And Eight Tiny Reindeer
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: A Christmas-themed series of drabbles to help me count down to the Christmas Special. Each of Santa's reindeer will be loosely associated with one of the downstairs staff and one of their Christmases. I will be updating every day, like an advent calendar. Most chapters are Season 3 or earlier. Any Chapters containing Season 4 Spoilers will have that noted at the very beginning!
1. Dasher- Daisy

**A/N Starting the stories as most of our seasons start…with Daisy.**

* * *

**Dasher [Daisy]**

"Is that fire still lit?"

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore."

"And the kettles are on?"

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore."

"Then start upstairs, girl."

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore."

The germ of a cold had been passed amongst the downstairs staff and Mrs. Patmore had banished Ivy and the other two kitchen maids to their rooms for fear of contamination. Several of the chamber maids were also ill. Dr. Clarkson had even been called to look at Madge, who had an elevated fever.

This left Daisy dashing around, doing the work of four people. Circumstances had demoted her back to scullery maid for the time being. Part of her did not mind her change of status. The simple act of preparing the fires was one part of her old job that Daisy remembered fondly. She would move purposefully from room to room; silent and efficient. In those dawning hours of the day, Daisy had enjoyed the relative freedom of working unobserved.

Sometimes, when Mrs. Patmore was in a fine fit over breakfast preparations, Daisy longed for a time when her main morning duties consisted of making sure the fires were built properly. Climbing the stairs now, with the bulky ash bucket, Daisy's nostalgia disappeared. She just hoped the hall boys had brought up the wood she needed.

The fires were extra important today of all days. The family would be waking early to gather in the drawing room to open gifts for baby Sybbie. Everything had to be perfect for the child's first Christmas.

Despite the heavy bucket and fireplace tools, Daisy made quick work of building the ground floor fires. She did linger briefly in the festively decorated drawing room, seeing all the fine toys as they waited silently for little Sybbie. The child was barely old enough to turn over, let alone play with toys, but that had not stopped her grandma and aunts from purchasing a gaggle of dolls and stuffed toys.

Creeping upstairs to light the fires in the family rooms, Daisy remembered a poem that Mr. Carson would read to them on the odd Christmas. "Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." Daisy smiled to think what Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes would do if a mouse were actually discovered in any of the upstairs rooms, stirring or not.

Mr. Carson only read the poem on the occasions when the staff had performed their jobs especially well and he had indulged in an extra glass of mulled wine as a reward. He never got drunk, but sometimes, Daisy noticed, he smiled more easily. On those occasions, it was a simple thing for Mrs. Hughes to gently convince him to read the poem in that hypnotic voice.

He had read it during Daisy's first Christmas at Downton. She counted that day amongst one of her first happy memories. It had been the first time that she had received a gift of any kind. Lord and Lady Grantham had bought each of the kitchen staff clean linen to make aprons or caps for the coming year. But the best gifts had been the peppermint sticks and oranges she had found on Christmas morning in the stocking Mrs. Patmore had made her hang.

This gift, combined with the poem had ensured that Daisy believed in Santa for many years to come. If she were truly honest with herself, she still did believe in Santa. But now, Daisy knew that Santa was not a round bellied, red clad elf with rosy cheeks. Her Santa was a round bellied, red-haired cook with rosy cheeks.

With the fires lit and the family beginning to wake, Daisy dashed down the stairs to help Santa with the breakfast trays. The next few hours were a blur of activity until it was finally time for the staff to have their Christmas. Exhausted, Daisy finally collapsed in her chair beside Mrs. Patmore. The hall boys had been asked to serve in the absence of the kitchen maids, who were all sharing a small feast, quarantined in one of their attic rooms.

"Daisy." Mrs. Hughes voice called from the other end of the table. "I believe you've a visitor for Christmas luncheon."

Mr. Mason stood in the servant's hall doorway holding his hat in his hand shyly. Daisy's weariness disappeared as she jumped up to greet him. Quickly, she ushered the diminutive man to the empty seat beside her. "Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes were kind enough to invite me. A body should be with family on Christmas."

Daisy could only nod numbly and smile at Mr. Mason. As the first of the food was passed their way, Daisy smiled at Mrs. Patmore and whispered, "Thank you."

"Happy Christmas." Mrs. Patmore winked at her, her eyes all a twinkle.

* * *

**I've roughed out which reindeer are which staff, but I am open to suggestions...We're all really busy this time of year, so reviewing is not necessary, but always appreciated.**


	2. Dancer- Thomas

**Dancer [Thomas]**

Christmas Night 1919-

"You wouldn't dare!" O'Brien challenged as she and Thomas enjoyed the last of the Christmas wine. It was well after midnight. The planchette crowd had dissolved quickly after Mrs. Patmore's on the nose communication with the great beyond had killed the mystery.

"It would be my right." Thomas reminded her, attempting to top off both their glasses with the last dregs of one bottle.

"But even you would be daft to assert that right." She reached for another near empty bottle and completed his goal, carelessly mixed the different clarets.

"I bet the old stick is quite the dancer. And she'll be glad of the chance."

"I doubt that very much. And you are not even His Lordship's valet yet. Aren't you putting the reindeer before the sleigh?" She sniffed contentedly at her bit of drunken wit. She briefly considered that perhaps she had overdone it tonight. Thankfully, Lady Grantham had given her the morning off. Wisely, O'Brien had already secured a packet of headache powder for tomorrow morning. She knew from experience that they would be in high demand.

"But I _will_ be his valet before the Servant's Ball, mark my words."

"Why would you want to dance with Mold Lady Grantham anyway?" _Another fine one, Sarah,_ she congratulated herself.

Thomas ignored the Irish woman's self-satisfied smile. "Maybe I feel sorry for the old gal. Imagine being forced to sit out all the fun just because Mr. Bates is a gimp. I mean, who doesn't like to dance? Or, you could chalk it up to a touch of Christmas spirit."

"Yes! That must be it. All those damn, dancing sugared plums are putting ideas in your head! Happy Christmas to all." Sarah slurred sarcastically before polishing off her wine in one long draught.

-00-

January 1920-

Unlike most people in the house, the predicament of Mr. John Bates had not cast a shadow over the holiday season of Mr. Thomas Barrow. Thomas did not actively wish for Mr. Bates to hang. So long as the valet did not return to Downton, it was all the same to Thomas whether he was living or no. There were moments when he felt some pangs of human sympathy for Anna's plight; a sweet girl like Anna didn't deserve something like this. But the soft feelings passed away quickly, displaced by naked ambition.

The day of the Servant's Ball the household's collective spirits were lifted by the news of the commuting of Mr. Bates' sentence. Even Miss O'Brien had seemed genuinely cheered by the announcement. Thomas tried not to outwardly scoff at their happiness. People weren't doing Anna any favors ignoring the fact that her husband was now just facing a longer death sentence. Wouldn't Anna be better off if the matter were closed for certain, rather than holding out hope of an unlikely acquittal? Any fool could see that the possibility of finding new evidence faded with each passing day.

_And people think I'm cruel._ He thought, watching Anna hovering on one side of the Grand Hall as the music started. Mr. Carson was leading Lady Grantham out for the first dance. _Pompous oaf. Someday that will be me and I will not look like I am about to smother the lady of the house. _Thomas could not admit, even to himself, that Mr. Carson moved with remarkable grace for a man of his size and age.

Lord Grantham escorted Mrs. Hughes to the middle of the floor and swept her off into an effortless waltz, chatting as they did so in a casual and familiar way. Mr. Matthew's smile was almost believable as he bowed before Miss O'Brien. Thomas smirked to himself, _Poor Mr. Matthew. I wonder which of us people will pity the most this evening._

For Thomas was determined to dance with the Dowager Countess. Now that Thomas was His Lordship's valet, he had no plans of relinquishing the role. He had ingratiated himself to Lord Grantham by searching for that dozy dog. He was determined to further endear himself to the family by dancing with Old Lady Grantham. And he did truly enjoy dancing. Even when he was young Thomas had an affinity for dancing. He wasn't too keen on the physical contact part of the activity, but so many other aspects appealed to him. Roles were clearly defined; a leader and a follower. Even the odd dance in the servant's hall with Daisy was a genuine pleasure for him. He could show off his knowledge of the latest fashionable steps and he was the center of attention. It made him feel strong to be in full control of another human being without having to resort to covert manipulation.

The floor was filling quickly. His time had come. Knowing that he cut a fine figure as he crossed the room, Thomas smugly approached the Dowager Countess and Lady Mary where they sat. He sidestepped His Lordship and Mrs. Hughes on the dance floor before bowing to the two ladies at their table.

"Your Ladyship, may I have the honor of this dance?"

She looked pleased to be asked. "Yes, it is a waltz. I am far too old for that awful Foxtrot." She raised herself up with the assistance of his offered arm.

"What about the Black Bottom?"

"Just keep me upright and we'll try to avoid it." Old Lady Grantham quipped. She had no idea that he was referring to a new dance, but she covered it well.

They danced in silence for a while. Thomas was a strong lead on the floor and the Dowager a surprisingly obliging partner. Their initial stiff posture relaxed slightly as Thomas and the Dowager each became more confident in their partner. "Mr. Watson was a terrible dancer." The Dowager offered, as explanation for her early rigidity. "Before dancing with him each year, I made sure the toes of my shoes were reinforced and the first waltz was brief."

"I suppose dancing just comes naturally to some people." Thomas observed conceitedly. "It takes talent to find that balance between being meticulously precise and artistically fluid at the same time."

"Yes, a delicate balance to be sure. One must always be prepared to adjust to the tempo of the music or the movement of the other couples, but never lose the structure of the dance."

Thomas raised his eyebrows in a show of respect. The Dowager was a very insightful woman, he knew that already. But Thomas was still impressed by her understanding of the nuance of what he was trying to say. "A suitable partner is important also."

"So any compliments I pay to you this evening I shall be paying to myself?"

"You could say that, mi'lady."

"Well, you may find me very complimentary this evening." She smiled slyly. "If I may say, you seem very comfortable in Mr. Bates' shoes."

Thomas was not going to fall into that trap. "For the time being. God willing, we will have more good news concerning Mr. Bates to follow that which we had today. But you must admit, I am certainly the better dancer."

"That is undeniable. Even Mr. Watson was a better partner than Mr. Bates. I would rather be trod upon than neglected."

"I'm sure Mr. Carson did his share of trodding upon Your Ladyship."

_And the boy has been so pleasant up until now._ Violet did not wish to start a quarrel, but she would not hear this upstart belittle Carson. "In fact, Mr. Carson is the finest dancer I've ever partnered."

Thomas read the warning in her icy reply clearly and retreated. "Oh, certainly, he's a fine dancer now. I thought he might not have always been so skilled."

"As you said. It just comes naturally to some people. Part of dancing is a keen sense of anticipation and confidence, both of which Carson has in spades."

The waltz ended and Thomas walked the Dowager back to her seat and bowed as he left her. He thought the experience still reflected positively on him, but he did regret that things had ended so cooly.

-00-

After a brief break for some punch, Thomas eyed his selection of available partners. The band was playing an upbeat tune and he dearly wished to dance. Briefly, Thomas considered seeking out Anna. Perhaps a dance would cheer her up. But dancing with Anna would not further his plan of making the family trust him. Asking Lady Mary was too bold a move after having danced with the Dowager. _No, someone more accessible…Ah!_

"My Lady, may I have the honor of this dance?"

Lady Edith looked astonished, but quickly accepted. She had been tapping her foot along to the music and could think of no reason to deny Thomas or herself a dance.

The floor was full of odd pairings for this dance. Mr. Carson was briskly leading Mrs. Crawley beside Mrs. Patmore, who was paired with Mr. Matthew. A once bold and boastful stable boy was dancing with Lady Grantham, but he looked terrified now. Thomas knew the other boys had goaded the poor lad into asking.

The music ended and everyone clapped appreciatively for the band. Many of the couples left the dance floor for punch or wine. A waltz began to play.

"I would be honored if you would like to continue our dance, My Lady."

"Certainly, Mr. Barrow." With the slower tempo, both Lady Edith and Thomas were able to catch their breath. Conversation had been impossible during their first dance. Now, the silence between them was palpable.

"Do you ever wonder why Mrs. Hughes does not dance more?" Lady Edith asked suddenly.

Thomas had never really considered it. "Perhaps she does not enjoy dancing."

"She seems to enjoy dancing with Lord Grantham, but she only ever dances the first."

Thomas made a mental note to remember Lady Edith's keen powers of observation. It might be something he could exploit, but it was certainly something he should avoid. He glanced involuntarily towards Mr. Carson who was now standing to the side of the dance floor, smiling and humming. "Mr. Carson never dances more than two dances and he seems to enjoy the activity greatly."

"Do you know, I have never seen Mr. Carson dance with Mrs. Hughes?" Edith observed.

"Nor I." Thomas concurred, slightly confused by the turn of conversation. "I've never seen Carson dance with any of the staff. I am sure he thinks it would be inappropriate."

"But Mrs. Hughes is his equal and she seems a strong dancer. I think they'd be well suited. In fact, when I was a girl, I thought…" But Edith stopped herself. The music and the wine was making her too familiar with Thomas, someone in whom she knew better than to confide anything.

At a loss for further conversation, Thomas asked, "Might I be so bold as to ask after Lady Sybil?"

"Yes, of course. She and Mr. Branson are doing very well in Dublin, according to her letters. She did mention you in the letter before last."

"Indeed?"

"She asked if you were staying out of trouble."

"And what did you tell her?"

"That you were as ever." She said, coyly.

"As ever?"

"Flirting with ambition."

He smiled at the idea. It was very well put, but not quite right. "I would not call it flirting, My Lady."

His smile broadened, but he remained silent. Finally, she gave in and implored him, "Oh, no, Mr. Barrow? Then, pray, what would you call it?"

"Dancing."

* * *

**A/N-Next Chapter: Prancer**

**You may have noticed that these are not necessarily going to be on the SAME Christmas...**

**I am not sure if I should include Rudolph. He's a divisive figure in my household. Some of us are old school and maintain there are only 8 reindeer. Others think he is the best reindeer that ever flew. I think he's a goof to let Santa treat him like fog lights. So I could go either way.**

**If Rudolph is included, he will need to be an outcast of some sort; either Molesley (misfit) or Tom (uppity chauffer) or Miss Reed (American). Thoughts?**


	3. Prancer- JimmyJames

**Prancer [Jimmy]**

Christmas Day- 1919

She watched him over the top of her glass. "I believe the new livery suits you very well, Jimmy."

"Thank you, My Lady. Your Ladyship was most generous to suggest the new uniforms." The new livery were almost identical to the old, but the tailoring had been adjusted slightly. The pants were cut tighter and the vest was almost like a corset. There was no denying that they were flattering to the male form, especially forms already in pretty good shape, like James and Terrence. "I hope that they help Terrence and I better represent the household."

"I think they certainly do, Jimmy." Lady Anstruther was enjoying her after dinner port in her drawing room. James was the only footman in attendance. A few callers had been by earlier in the day to pay their Christmas respects. All of Lady Anstruther's sons were abroad with their respective regiment or ship. Her daughters had celebrated the Yuletide with their own families and children. Lady Anstruther chose not to visit them. She found it far too fatiguing. Though Marguerite usually sat with Her Ladyship in the evenings, the maid had been sent to bed early tonight. Lady Anstruther had insisted that the young woman had looked quite unwell.

"Please stand forward, Jimmy, so I can see you more clearly." He stood in front of her. She motioned for him to walk around and show her all the angles of the new livery. He raised his arms from his sides and turned on a spot before walking back to face her. "I must remember to compliment Mr. Ulster on his workmanship."

Lady Anstruther pulled a small white and red wrapped box out from behind a cushion and held it out to him. "I have a present for you, Jimmy."

"You did not need to get me anything, My Lady." He flashed her a toothy smile that said otherwise.

"But I wanted to, my pet." She beamed hungrily back at him.

James knew what was expected of him. He accepted the package. He opened the gift slowly, slipping the ribbon teasingly through his fingers as he untied to bow. He knew how to prolong her anticipation. He also knew that she loved it when he toyed with her. Finally, he opened the box.

"They are magnificent, My Lady. They are far too fine for a simple footman." He picked up one of the gleaming cufflinks. It was heavy; obviously of solid gold. These were not plated like the cufflinks he currently wore with his livery.

"But you will not always be a simple footman, Jimmy. Not a smart boy like you." She gushed at him. Around her mouth, the red liquid of the port looked revolting contrasted against the ghoulish grey of her lips. He fought to conceal the shudder than ran down his back. How he resented her drooling and fawning, but it was the price he had agreed to pay. "Let me help you put them on, pet."

James sat beside his benefactor. Her claw like hands pawed at him as he offered his arm. She leaned bodily against him, smelling of powder and port. He let her caress his strong, smooth hands with her bony fingers; she never made him wear gloves when waiting on her. When she was done with her attentions to the cufflinks, her hands remained on his arm, stroking him gently.

"They are beautiful, My Lady. Thank you." He held them up as if to admire them. He was able to shrug off her grabbing hands in the process.

"Is that how we say 'thank you', Jimmy?" She pouted, showing more of her port stained lower lip.

"Of course not, My Lady." James leaned towards her. He placed one hand delicately on one of her cheeks and placed a long, lingering kiss upon the other. He felt her face form a smile beneath his kiss, the side of her mouth approaching his lips. It took all of his self-control not to flinch away from her. Her hand had dropped to his knee and she rubbed his leg possessively.

James knew she did not want anything more than these little intimacies. The old girl was harmless; she was 85 if she was a day. She just wanted to feel desirable for a moment; to feel her heart flutter as it had in her youth. If she chose to spend some of her copious money for such a silly thing, who was he to stop her?

He knew Lady Anstruther was starved for attention. These cufflinks, whose cost meant nothing to her, had bought her one kiss and some innocent groping. Sometimes he found his complicity in these exchanges humiliating but, in his mind, he was already calculating the value of his newest gift. He would have to keep and wear all of the little trinkets she had bought him; the watch fob, the ring, the tie pin and all the others, but only until he left her employ. His little treasure trove was becoming more impressive with each passing month.

Finally, he drew away from her, hearing Lady Anstruther sigh sadly. She was already wondering what she could buy him next. Her hand remained on his leg.

"You know I am thinking of moving to Paris permanently, my pet." He felt her fingernails on the inside of his thigh, but smiled nonetheless.

"The staff can talk of little else, My Lady. You will be greatly missed. England shall be losing one of its loveliest flowers."

She blushed at his ham handed compliment and licked her lips noisily. James kept his smiling mask in place. "I shall, of course, be writing excellent references for all the staff who are not coming with me, but I was hoping…" She looked down bashfully. "That is, might you consider joining my household in Paris?"

James had been anticipating this offer. He had worked in this house, cultivating the old woman's interest in him for over two years. He had a bit saved up now and he was finding it harder to play this game. He was ready to move on and now felt like the right time to extract himself from this situation. With Her Ladyship moving her household to Paris, he could do this and he could secure an excellent reference at the same time. No other ending was likely to be as favorable. "I will give the matter some thought, My Lady. I am so attached to Your Ladyship, but England is my home. It would be quite the hardship for me to leave my home."

"If it is a matter of salary…"

"I assure you, My Lady, money will not enter into my decision." _And if you believe that, I've a castle in Orkney to sell you. _"But that is many months off, My Lady. Do not let it mar your Christmas. Would you care for more wine?"

Reluctantly, she let him stand and retrieve the decanter. After filling her glass, James retreated to the side of the settee. He considered his new cufflinks and flashed a winning smile at her as he stood at attention.

She smiled sloppily back at him between her sips of wine. Shortly, Her Ladyship grew tired and her eyelids began to grow heavy. Her head bobbed slightly a few times, which James took as the signal that she was ready for bed. James rang for Claire. She helped Her Ladyship to her feet. "Let's get you upstairs, My Lady, and get your brain settled for a long winter's nap, as they say." James gave the head housemaid a cheeky wink as she led their drowsy mistress out of the drawing room. Claire was a game girl alright, he knew from experience.

As soon as they were gone, James flopped down on the settee and poured himself a heavy helping of the port. He felt that he'd earned it. His options for the evening filtered through his mind. If he were truly nearing the end of his employment with Lady Anstruther, it would also put an end to his having to juggle all the eager downstairs ladies. The thought came as a huge relief and a small disappointment.

They all knew that he flirted with the others. "But if I don't flirt with them all, they'll suspect us, love. Don't be jealous, frowning gives you ugly wrinkles." They had all believed his lie and they all believed they were the only one with whom he'd taken flirtation to the next step.

And where were his ladies currently? Marguerite was already in bed, Claire would be with Her Ladyship at least an half hour, Alison was probably waiting for him in the servant's hall and Lucy had taken her half day, but would be back soon, probably already well into her cups.

Always one for the path of least resistance, James took the still half full decanter and two glasses with him and headed for the attics. Confined to her bed Marguerite would be very happy to see him and the wine. If he was lucky, she might not be his only stop this evening.

-00-

Christmas Day 1920

James walked back and forth past the full length mirror at the bottom of the stairs admiring his reflection.

"Maybe you'd like to take that up to your room so you two can be alone." Mrs. Patmore heckled as she passed him on her way back to the kitchen. Ever since being elevated to first footman, the lad had become insufferable. He was still toying with Ivy and avoiding any superfluous interaction with Mr. Barrow.

"Now, Mrs. Patmore, it is a footman's job to look his best at all times." Mr. Carson reminded her as he emerged from his office.

"Well said, Mr. Carson." James agreed.

"But I must say, James, it is possible to preen to the point of appearing ridiculous. Please desist and take the fresh coffee up to the drawing room. I believe most of the family are already gathered there."

"At once, Mr. Carson." He sauntered into the kitchen in search of the coffee tray. Alfred, Ivy and Daisy were already there, preparing the buffet luncheon for the family and putting the finishing touches on the servant's Christmas feast. "I'm to take up the coffee. A little help, Ivy?"

"It's just there, Jimmy. You've eyes haven't you?" Ivy teased.

"The better to see you with, my dear." He smirked back.

"Well, you'd be better off using them to see the coffee tray. If it were a snake, it would a' bit you." Daisy cracked at him. She would not mind Jimmy showing an interest in Ivy if he were sincere, but even she could see he did it to get under Alfred's skin. Daisy hated to see Alfred so uncomfortable. She really hated that his discomfort usually led to a clumsy profession of his feelings for Ivy. And all in her kitchen! "You'd best do as Mr. Carson said if you know what's best for you."

Carson raised his eyebrows in surprise. He wondered when Daisy had become so assertive. Mrs. Patmore just smiled sadly. She was proud of how Daisy was coming along. She might have gumption enough to be a cook yet, but Beryl knew that the poor girl was suffering. At least her anger was focused on that puffed up footman rather than simple Ivy.

A humbled and huffing James bustled past the cook and butler as he carried the mid afternoon coffee. Carson shook his head and Mrs. Patmore just laughed as she headed back to the kitchen.

"Servant's Christmas luncheon will be ready in one hour, Mr. Carson."

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. I shall inform Mrs. Hughes."

* * *

**A/N Something like this scenario has been kicking around in my mind since Jimmy arrived and Mr. Carson said, "I don't care if you were Father Christmas to Lady Anstruther!" **

**I hate to speak ill of others around the holidays, but I believe, Jimmy is a preening, prancing fop. I think he was probably just one step better than a gigolo while at Lady Anstruther's. I think he has so much more potential for growth at Downton, but he is content to just be pretty. I think that is part of why Carson is so tough on him, to challenge him. Or maybe he just doesn't like him, which is cool with me.  
**

**Thank you for all the suggestions for Rudolph! They have given me a lot to think about. **

**Tomorrow…VIXEN!  
**


	4. Vixen- O'Brien

**A/N- This chapter got hotter than I expected and there are a few profanities. The story rating has been changed to T. You have been warned…**

* * *

**Vixen [O'Brien]**

Christmas Night- 1911

"Have you been a good boy this year, Graeme?"

Mr. Watson looked up in surprise from hanging Lord Grantham's tailcoat. He was speechless as the woman in the doorway moved smoothly towards him, loosening her thick hair with one hand in a slow and sensuous motion. "Or would you rather be a naughty boy?"

He could not help but smile as she brought the bottle of whiskey from behind her back and opened it, placing the cork on the table beside the door. She glided across His Lordship's dressing room.

"Sarah, I thought we agreed to limit these activities to London. It's too risky here in Yorkshire, lass." He protested in his smooth Scottish brogue. "It's not so very long until next Season."

"But that doesn't mean we can't still have a bit of fun on a special occasion. And what better time than Christmas?" She purred and touched his chest lightly. "Her Ladyship is in her kerchief and His Lordship is in his cap. They won't disturb us and why would anyone else come up here? Especially on Christmas night? They're all far too busy to miss either of us, my sweet."

She made a very strong point, which she was further driving home by tracing her fingers up to his collar.

Few would suspect the latent animal desire that resided in this dour Irishwoman. Certainly, Mr. Watson had not until a fateful night during his first Season as Lord Grantham's valet. He'd found her washing her hair in the utility sink at Grantham House. She'd looked so different that he had not recognized her at first. He had entered the laundry room excited and wondering who this mysterious vixen could be. He had made love to her that night as she sat on the edge of the sink, nipping at his earlobes and growling into his ear.

Mr. Watson knew now the rewards that awaited anyone who could see past her bristly personality and intimidating coiffure. He had enjoyed her passions during the past two London Seasons. He was ashamed to admit that he missed her attentions after returning to Yorkshire. "It wouldn't be right, Sarah." He whispered, though he sounded less sure of himself now.

Her dark eyes beckoned to him beneath her severe bangs. She took a small sip from the whiskey bottle, running her tongue suggestively up the bottle neck and around the rim. Silently, he accepted when she pressed the drink to his lips. He felt the heat burn down his throat and gather in his core before spreading back out towards all his extremities.

Now that her hair was down, those damned sideburns were lost in the rich curls of the rest of her hair. Unable to stop himself, Graeme reached up to brush the hair back off her face. She really was a handsome woman. He wondered, not for the first time, why she took such pains to hide it. He had found her almost repulsive when he had first joined the Downton staff. How wrongly he had judged her.

Sarah leaned her cheek into his hand and sighed seductively. "Oh, Graeme, how I've missed you and London is still so far away. Must we wait until then? Are you sure you _can _wait until then?" He groaned as she pressed herself against him. She could very well feel that he could not wait or at least, that wait would be very uncomfortable.

Smiling at him knowingly, she stepped back towards the small bed. He followed her, held in thrall by her eyes. He took another long swig of whiskey and sighed as the liquid courage burned its way through his body. He felt his skin tingling and his mind humming.

He placed the bottle on the side table and took her fiercely in his arms. He kissed her ravenously, letting the fumes of alcohol from their collective breath burn his nose and eyes. They both undressed quickly, their professional expertise guiding their nimble fingers. Their swelling lips only parted when he pulled her shift over her head.

She fell back onto the bed, any stitch of clothing a distant memory. He stood over her, panting with lust. He took up the bottle again and drank even more deeply than before. The fire inside him felt divine and potent. He splashed some of the amber liquor onto her prone body and thrilled as he watched her try to lick some droplets off of her own shoulders and chest.

"Leave some for me, lass." He growled as he descended on top of her and nestled purposefully between her thighs. He sucked at her breasts seeking the last drops of the quickly evaporating whiskey. Her skin tasted salty and sweet to his questing tongue. She filled his senses and he lost his self control. He rose forcefully into her as her body surrounded him in a shuddering embrace.

-00-

After breaking the taboo of making love under the roof of Downton, they sought out every occasion to be together. Most nights it was a torture waiting for His Lordship to walk into Her Ladyship's bedroom. She would then hurry to the dressing room to find him waiting in the bed, their bed, for her.

They were especially bold on New Year's and after the Servant's Ball, again consuming entire bottles of whiskey on each occasion and almost failing to secure the evidence of their activities before Lord Grantham had returned to be dressed.

Mr. Watson was becoming careless in his distraction. His need for her was all consuming. He could hardly be in the dressing room with Lord Grantham without remembering some moment of intimacy that had occurred in that very room only hours before. He would picture how her white shoulders looked in the moonlight or how her warm hands felt beneath the sheets when she was trying to coax another round out of his willing but unable body.

On more than one occasion he had not been able to wash properly before attending to His Lordship. The Earl had not commented on the odor of whiskey on these occasions, but Mr. Watson had seen a look of concern in his master's eyes.

By the end of January, the valet was looking drawn and wane. Conversely, Miss O'Brien had not looked fresher or cheerier since arriving at Downton. Mrs. Hughes had commented to Mrs. Patmore that she had gone nearly two weeks without a cross word from the usually sharp tongued maid.

"We cannot continue like this, my dear." He groaned one evening after a particularly physical coupling. He sipped at his whiskey, wondering absently where she had tapped into a seemingly limitless supply of such high quality liquor.

"What other options do we have, love?"

"We could ask His Lordship for permission to marry."

"And if he refuses us, we will be kicked out immediately with no references between us. I don't think so."

"We could resign separately and find a household that will employ us both. I have heard of such situations in London."

"But it would be madness to leave our jobs before we have other jobs secured."

"I could go to London before you to find a likely situation. I've enough saved up to last for a while. I'd resign tomorrow if you'll just say that you'll marry me, Sarah."

She considered this for a moment, cradled in his strong arms. He felt her nod against his chest in answer. "But not tomorrow. Let's not rush anything, Graeme."

"Whatever you wish, my love." His body was both willing and able to grace her with an encore tonight.

-00-

"Watson." Lord Grantham began tentatively, a few mornings after their engagement. "Are you entirely happy here?"

"Why do you ask, My Lord?"

"You did not answer my question."

"I am happy here, My Lord, but is anyone _entirely_ happy anywhere?"

"Do not obfuscate, man. Your conduct over the last month has been alarming. I must know the reason behind it."

Graeme knew that he could not betray Sarah, but he still held some hope that Lord Grantham would let them marry. "I have fallen in love, My Lord. I wish to marry and I know you would not allow such a thing. I suppose the stress has been affecting me."

Robert smiled at the man. Being in love certainly would account for his valet's woeful state. "I am glad to hear that you've found someone, Watson. But I fear you are correct; a married valet would be unacceptable at Downton."

"I understand that, My Lord. I am hoping to find an amenable situation in London, but I have not yet begun inquiries. I fully intended to inform Your Lordship before taking that step."

"I appreciate that, Watson. I shall be happy to write an excellent reference for you. I might even have some contacts in London that could assist you."

"Thank you, My Lord. You are very kind, as always."

-00-

"Mr. Carson?"

"Yes, Thomas?"

"I hate to bother you, but I've seen something and I feel you should know."

-00-

"Are you certain? I cannot believe such a thing of Watson."

"Nor can I, My Lord, but the ledgers do not lie. I am only asking permission to perform a search of his room. We could search other servant's rooms as well, but we should start with his since we have an eyewitness."

"You must settle the manner how you see fit, Carson."

"Thank you, My Lord."

-00-

"I am afraid the evidence is against you, Mr. Watson."

"But I never stole anything, Mr. Carson."

"And am I to believe that you make a habit of purchasing the same whiskey as His Lordship? My inventory shows ten missing bottles, valued at forty pounds each which leaves us with no small sum. This was found in your room, along with an almost empty bottle of the same." The butler pointed to a bottle of whiskey standing on his desk. "I am willing to admit that my books might be in error but not by so large a margin. I have double checked the inventory and have confirmed my calculations." He looked at Mrs. Hughes at this juncture. She stood beside the valet. Her face looked almost as bewildered as Mr. Watson's. None of this made sense to either the housekeeper or the butler. Carson was loathe to accuse anyone unjustly, but the facts in this case seemed irrefutable.

"You cannot possibly have consumed all eight of the still missing bottles, Mr. Watson." Graeme did the math in his head. Yes. He very well may have consumed those eight bottles of whiskey. But he had not stolen them.

Mr. Carson continued evenly. "If you can return the remaining eight bottles and offer me an acceptable explanation, I am willing to write you a sufficient reference such that you will not be destitute when you leave here. His Lordship and I agree that your conduct has been exemplary up until this last month. He believes you were driven to this by a woman. His Lordship is very saddened by this turn of events, Mr. Watson. As am I."

"As am I, Mr. Carson, but I fear I cannot offer any explanation that would satisfy you." Graeme had no account to give and he certainly could not return the whiskey. He was ruined. Admitting his relationship with Miss O'Brien would only serve to ruin her as well. Desperately, he tried to understand what had happened. Had Sarah known where the whiskey was coming from? How had the two bottles, one full and one near empty, found their way into his room? He must find Sarah before he was escorted off the grounds. "I am sorry that I have betrayed His Lordship's faith in me. I shall leave immediately. I will not expect you to pay any salary that is owing."

"I believe that goes without saying, Mr. Watson."

-00-

He was almost finished packing when he heard a familiar step approach his doorway. It was not a step familiar to the men's corridor.

"You weren't planning on leaving without saying 'goodbye', were you?" Her icy tone pierced his heart. Any last illusions that this was all a mistake were shattered. He had been played. He was a chump.

He stood up from his packing and faced her. Her expression was even colder than her voice. Still, he had to try. "Why, Sarah?"

"Oh, no, Graeme. I cannot give you my reasons. That would be too easy." Let him always wonder, that was part of the game.

"What could I have possibly done to deserve this treatment?" His voice was still low, but his blood was beginning to boil.

"It's not you, love. It's me."

"Love? You dare speak of love?" He yelled at her. His Scottish temper rose at the very thought of how he had felt; how he still felt; for this woman. "You are a heartless harridan. You wonton vixen! I curse the day I ever set eyes on you!"

"Come now, Mr. Watson, it was just a bit of fun. Isn't that what you said?" She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly. "I'm sorry if it wasn't fun for you." She turned to leave. "I had fun. Do let us know how you get along." And she was gone.

The unjustness of his situation closed in around him. He could ruin her in return. She was not well liked, he would be believed. All it would take was a full confession to His Lordship. It would not improve his lot, but she would at least share the fate she had visited upon him. She knew all this, and yet, she had come here to gloat over his fall from grace. She understood that he would not take revenge upon her. It stung him to see how well she knew him when he did not know her at all.

His anger finally overpowered him as he lost all restraint. Roaring in a voice full of agony, Mr. Watson picked up the near empty incriminating bottle and threw it at the wall just beside the doorway in which she had stood. "Bitch!"

He shoved over the dresser drawers and flipped over his small bed; a bed in which he had spent countless nights dreaming of his future life with the beautiful and gentle Sarah O'Brien. He understood now that such a creature had never existed. He flipped over the second bed in the room for good measure. He stood panting over the strewn furniture in fury as he had stood panting over her naked body in lust. His eyes searched madly for something else to destroy or throw. There was nothing more. With a deep sigh, he gathered his few scattered belongings. He had no choice but to leave this dreadful and cursed place; cursed by the evil presence that was Sarah O'Brien.

He spat on the floor to ward off evil and shut the door behind him. He walked evenly down the stairs and out the back door past a smirking Thomas.

-00-

"Well, he's gone."

"I know. Well done, Miss O'Brien. I am impressed." He lit another cigarette and passed it to her. "That was ruthlessly done. But explain to me why you would want to get rid of him and help me? What's in it for you?"

"A woman never reveals her secrets, Thomas." She had not known Thomas more than a year. She would not be fool enough to share anything with him, but she could use him.

What were her reasons? Maybe even she could not say. Was it just to cover for the whiskey she had taken? Was it because she had once heard him describe her as 'a mannish train wreck with sideburns and bangs'? Was it because he would not share His Lordship's secrets with her? Was it for the sex? Was it because, while he was physically attractive, he was ultimately a dull man? Was it the way he ignored her when they were at Downton? Or had she simply toyed with him because she was bored and because she could? Was it to prove that she had such power over someone even in the small scope of her world? Was she showing off for Thomas? Maybe it was all of these reasons or none of them. One thing was certain; Thomas Barrow would be infinitely more useful to her as Lord Grantham's valet than Graeme Watson had ever been.

"Let's just say he crossed me once."

"I shall be sure never to cross you, Miss O'Brien."

"That is a very good idea, Thomas. Or should I call you Mr. Barrow? Between the two of us controlling Lord and Lady Grantham, we'll have this house dancing to our tune in no time."

"That's the plan."

THE END

* * *

**A/N There were quite a few options for Vixen. Many thanks to Chelsie Fan for helping me narrow them down. It was she who suggested poor Mr. Watson. I've abused him terribly in this story, but I must admit to actually enjoying writing this one once I got started. I think this was a little over the top cold ass bitch even for O'Brien, but it was fun to explore a truly evil mind. In this story, she is flat out pathological. She obviously developed some tenderness by the time she met Mr. Lang.**

**Don't feel too sorry for Mr. Watson. He used his savings to immigrate to America (NOT on the Titanic) and was very successful. He married a lovely woman whose love erased all his bitter memories of Miss O'Brien. Why not? He's not a real person anyway.**

**Tomorrow...Comet!**


	5. Comet- William

**Comet [William]**

December 22nd, 1917

The moon had set and the trenches lay dark and still. Midnight had past but morning was still a distant hope. The guns had been relatively silent for days. Each side used the time to reinforce and rest, waiting for the enemy to blink.

"William?"

"Over here, sir." Matthew followed the voice in the dark. He found his servant sitting quietly at guard, only visible as a black outline against the blacker wall of the trench. "What are you doing up at this hour, sir?"

"I couldn't sleep. Imagine my surprise when Sergeant Riley told me you'd been volunteering for the night watch the past few days."

"I would have been up anyway, sir. I thought I'd let one of the other lads have the sleep."

"That was thoughtful of you, but why would you be awake?"

"Have a seat, sir, and I'll show you." Matthew sat beside William on the freezing ground. "Do you know Ursa Minor?"

"The little dipper? Of course I know it." Matthew stared up at the North Star.

"Watch the bowl of the dipper, sir."

Matthew followed the stars of the handle to the bowl. He was confused and was about to say so when… "Oh! I say!" … "And there's another!"…"How did you know that was going to happen?"

"Happens every year, like clockwork. It's a Mason family tradition to watch the meteor shower. Every winter solstice, if the weather was clear, we would go out in the fields with a cart full of hay and blankets to keep us warm. We would watch the meteors all night. When I was small, I would fall asleep in the cart and wake up the next morning in my own bed. But then I grew too large for dad to lift me."

The river of the Milky Way ran through the moonless sky, a magnificent and unfathomable backdrop for the meteor shower. The Private and the Captain watched the sporadically streaking lights in reverent silence for a time.

"He'll be watching tonight, my Dad; watching the same sky." William's voice said softly. "And maybe Daisy too. When you consider the distance between the stars, it makes the distance between here and home feel not quite so far. But it's still far enough."

Matthew smiled in the darkness. William was not a talkative companion, for which Matthew was grateful. But sometimes the lad managed to find the most poetic ways to state the simple truths that Matthew so often struggled to define.

Home did feel very close right now, but what comfort was that when any separation was unbearable? Matthew thought of the latest batch of letters he'd received that morning. He had heard from his three most constant correspondents; mother, Lavinia and Mary. They all offered holiday greetings and sent their love to lighten his spirits. Matthew had not yet responded to any of them. Maybe that was what made him restless and unable to sleep tonight. He knew he should write to Lavinia or his mother first, but whenever he sat before his makeshift desk, the only thought that came was, 'Dearest Cousin Mary.'

"This is a hard time to be away from family." Matthew commiserated. Trying to ignore his restless thoughts, he asked, "How is it that the meteors are so predictable? You say they happen every year at the same time?"

"I only know what my Dad told me. He explained that there are pockets or bands of debris strewn all through space. Every year at this time, the earth passes through the same pocket of debris. There are other events, probably better ones throughout the year, but he always liked that this one happened around Christmas."

"Does he follow astronomy; your Dad?"

"He does. Reads everything about it he can find. He knows the strangest things. Did you know that even when the sun is shining, the stars are still there? We just cannot see them because the sun is so bright. I find that a fascinating thought. It seems so obvious, but how often do you really think about the stars during the day?"

A large meteor burned so brightly Matthew had to look away, his sensitive eyes burned by the sudden light.

"That was a good one. It must have been a huge chunk of rock." William observed.

"Do any of them reach the ground?"

"Most of them burn up completely in the atmosphere. According to my Dad, the few that are large enough to survive the trip are most likely to crash into the oceans. I don't think I'd want to be around if one hit the ground."

"I concur. I've had enough of objects impacting the ground around me to add meteors to the equation." Matthew joked before growing serious again. "Why do you think we find shooting stars so fascinating, William?"

"Dad says it reminds us that space is not empty just because it is dark. It is full of invisible objects waiting to collide with the earth and make themselves known, if only for a second."

"But it's rather sad, don't you think? Such a short blaze of glory and then gone forever."

"Not gone. All the elements from the meteor are still there. And what a beautiful blaze of glory they make."

"I cannot argue with that. Were you able to continue your tradition of watching the stars after you came to Downton?"

"My first year at Downton, I asked Mr. Carson for permission to stay up late to watch the showers. I thought that I'd have to beg him, but he agreed and even suggested opening up the outing to everyone.

"Mrs. Patmore made cocoa and we carried blankets out to the walled garden so the lights from the house would not disturb us. Unfortunately, the moon was very bright that night. That poem Mr. Carson sometimes reads, the Night Before Christmas one? There is a line in it, that described the scene perfectly. He read the poem only a few days later, and it rang so true, I'll never forget. 'The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below'.

"Only we didn't have any snow, thankfully. I doubt Mr. Carson would have let us sit around in snow.

"Anyway, with the moon so bright, it was hard to see all the meteors, so the numbers weren't very impressive. But there were more than a few notable meteors that evening that even the moon's light could not hide.

"The first meteor Daisy saw trailed halfway across the sky and burned out just as it passed the moon. It almost looked as though it had crashed into the moon. She was sitting on the blanket that was just opposite mine. She oohed and ahhed like a child at a fireworks display. That was the moment I fell in love with her. She was so beautiful in that moonlight. It's odd to think that was six years ago, tonight."

"You know the exact moment you fell in love?"

"Don't you?"

"No." _Not with Lavinia._ He thought sadly. "What was it about her in that moment that captured your heart?"

"Her sense of wonder. She made me feel like I was seeing the sky for the first time." His voice trailed off bashfully, knowing that he sounded like a fool."She always had a childlike innocence. Do you know she was so frightened by electricity when they installed it upstairs, she would rather work in the dark than touch the switch. If I was nearby, she would ask me to turn on the lights for her. Whenever possible, I made sure I was nearby."

"She's a sweet and innocent girl, William. You are very lucky. As is she."

"I know some people think she is simple, but she is not. According to Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore has never agreed to train anyone as young as Daisy. Mrs. Patmore is not a woman who suffers fools easily. That's proof enough of her intelligence for me, even if I didn't know her so well as I do. Is it any wonder I fell in love with her within two months of arriving at Downton?"

"But she didn't fall in love with you so quickly?"

"She was blinded by her crush on Thomas for a while."

"Thomas? Really? Not much hope there, poor girl."

"No. But she didn't notice me through her worship of him."

"Like the sun obscuring the stars."

"I hadn't thought of it like that. I suppose it was like that. But the sun must eventually set, while the stars remain steady. And so, I waited. It wasn't always easy, but it paid off. Maybe it took this war for her to finally see me clearly."

"It would be nice to think at least one good thing could come out of this mad war."

"And you might not have met Miss Swire. So there is that as well."

"Yes. There is that." His hand went involuntarily to the pocket in which Mary's good luck charm was safely tucked away. The fact that no one questioned why he carried a stuffed toy around in his pocket only proved how absurd this war was. But another thought disturbed him. Why, in these moments of calm did his thoughts always turn to her? In times of blazing activity he could focus his mind and remember to consider Lavinia, but there was no lying to himself in the stillness of the night.

"Have you and Daisy discussed the wedding?" He forced himself to rejoin the conversation.

"Daisy says there's no point until the war is over. But I've thought about it. I've thought about it a lot. I'd like to be married in the gardens at Downton on December 21st, where and when I fell in love with her. And we'd spend our honeymoon in a cart full of hay and blankets under the stars."

"That sounds very romantic, William, but you may have a hard time convincing Daisy." He teased. "And would you both stay on at Downton?"

"I only came to Downton to please my mother and to help out when money was tight. But the farm is doing well now. After my mother died, I only stayed on at Downton to be near Daisy. Eventually, I'll go back to the farm and work with my Dad. I'll be happy being a farmer.

"I'll stay on at Downton as long as Daisy wants to continue her training with Mrs. Patmore, but I'm not cut out to be a butler. Not like Mr. Carson."

"I shouldn't think many are." They both chuckled at this. "That sounds like a lovely plan, William. Now, all we have to do is make sure you survive this bloody war."

"You and me both, sir."

"That's always the hope, William."

They fell silent now. Every now and then a large meteor would light up the sky like a flare, illuminating the men's youthful faces as they gazed upwards. They watched the display in the celestial heights until the dawn hid the stars from view and the business of war devoured their dreams of home.

* * *

**A/N- I cheated and included Matthew in this, but it felt right. They both died far too soon.  
**

**Okay, it's shooting stars instead of comets, but ****the Ursids shower is associated with the comet, 8P/Tutle, so I'm saying it works. **

**BTW, the Ursids meteor shower is going on right now (Dec 17th-23rd). Peak is the 21****st,**** where there's usually 10 meteors per hour or so.  
**

**It's not as grand as the Leonid or Perseid showers, but it's still a fun winter activity to use as a break from all the noise. Hot Cocoa is a must. If the moon isn't too bright and the weather cooperates, check it out! We usually have clouds, but this year we've had some descent viewing. I hope it is clear on the 21st. **

**Tomorrow's guest reindeer is… Cupid! (Which rhymes with stupid. Coincidence?)  
**


	6. Cupid- Bates

**A/N- While there are not any exact spoilers for Series 4, there are some hints at motifs that will be part of the Bates/Anna storyline. Read at your own risk and definitely avoid reading any of the reviews, just in case.**

* * *

**Cupid [John Bates]**

Christmas Eve 1921-

Anna Bates sat alone at the Servant's table absentmindedly "mending" one of Lady Mary's blouses. Since Lady Mary was still in mourning and not very active, none of her clothing really required mending. Anna was systematically testing the buttons on all of Lady Mary's clothes. If a button was loose or Anna could pull the button off with very little effort, it was resewn. It was dull and tedious work.

Lady Mary had refused tea, yet again, and was sequestered in her room, 'Not to be disturbed'. What that meant for Anna was hours of waiting in the servant's hall for Lady Mary to ring. All the other staff were busy about their work, either upstairs or in the kitchens or the laundry. There was no one to keep Anna company.

In contrast to her boredom, John had never been busier. The past month John had been busy playing Cupid. He was conspiring with Lord Grantham to prepare Her Ladyship's Christmas gift; a romantic night away from Downton. It was to be a surprise and every detail had to be perfect. Most nights the past week Anna had walked back to their cottage alone after servant's dinner while John went back upstairs to put something in order for the trip. Anna offered to help, but he had insisted, "You need to get home and get your rest. I know looking after Lady Mary is wearing you down."

Truer words had never been spoken. Wearing her down was exactly what Mary was doing. Every morning, Anna would try anew to draw the grieving woman out of the dark cocoon she had woven around herself. And every morning Anna's respectful optimism was chewed up and spat back into her face. Anna was beginning to wonder how much more of this she could take. Losing Mr. Matthew had been tragic and shocking. The tragedy would never go away, but surely the shock had a shelf life. It had been four months. Master George was growing more every day but his mother was not watching.

John wanted Anna to rest, but she did not find spending time alone in their cottage restful; quite the opposite. She was restless for him to be home, restless for him to hold her and remind her that, for them, at least, Love still existed in this world. Though he had come home late the past few nights, he had come home. Tonight, he would not be coming home at all.

Unbeknownst to Lady Grantham, she and Lord Grantham would be spending the evening in Ripon. They had theatre tickets and dinner reservations and a suite at the finest hotel. John was upstairs right now, putting the finishing touches on packing His Lordship's bag. Anna had to admire that Lord Grantham had recognized that Lady Grantham needed time away from the dark mood that held Downton in its grasp. But, this meant that John would also be in Ripon over Christmas Eve. It was strange that His Lordship had not thought how this would affect Bates and Anna. He was usually very considerate of such things.

John had arranged everything for His Lordship and his reward was an evening in Ripon with Miss O'Brien. _What a way to spend Christmas Eve._ She thought dully. Her reward for having such a fine husband would be spending the night alone in their cottage. _Maybe Mrs. Hughes would let me stay in the house tonight._

As if thinking of her had summoned her, the housekeeper came briskly down the stairs. "Anna? You're wanted in the library."

"Is Lady Mary in the library?"

"You are wanted in the library. That is all that I am at liberty to say." The Scot answered enigmatically. The bell for the library jumped and jingled. "Leave your sewing, lass, and be quick about it."

Anna did as she was told, not seeing the mischievous look on Mrs. Hughes face as she scuttled up the stairs. As she reached the ground floor, she suppressed her anxieties and entered the formal rooms of the house wearing a professional and calm demeanor. She entered the library and looked around. It was empty. "Hello?" She called, wondering if Lady Mary were in the smaller room of the library.

Mr. Carson entered the library from the far door, the one leading to the front hall. "You took your time." He noted. "You had best go to the front door."

"The front door?" Was Lady Mary going somewhere? Had the poor widow finally snapped? Then the truth dawned. Lord and Lady Grantham must be leaving for Ripon now. John had not been able to come downstairs to say goodbye. This was her only chance to see him until luncheon tomorrow. Anna ran past Mr. Carson to the front door. She did not care about propriety. She did not see Mr. Carson smile at her haste.

The sight that greeted her at the front door was an odd one. A small, horse drawn cart stood before the house. His Lordship was surely not driving to Ripon in this small carriage. A canopy covered the seats of the carriage and Anna could not see who held the reins.

"What are you waiting for, woman?" John asked as he leaned into view. "Climb on up."

"But…Lord and Lady Grantham…"

"His Lordship and Ladyship left half an hour ago. They decided they would not be needing a valet or a maid tonight."

He heart lifted. She would not be alone tonight. "But…Lady Mary…"

"O'Brien shall be caring for Lady Mary tonight and tomorrow. We don't often have so much time to ourselves, love. Don't waste it standing there. Let's go."

"My coat…" Anna turned back towards the house, only to find Mr. Carson holding her coat out for her. She allowed him to help her on with her coat and then assist her as she climbed into the trap.

"Enjoy your evening off, Mr. Bates; Mrs. Bates." Was all the butler said before returning to the house and closing the front door.

Still silent from the cumulative shock of these rapidly unfolding events, Anna allowed John to pack her into the carriage seat; covering her with a fur blanket. He kissed her quickly on the cheek. "Shall we go then?"

"Go where; home?"

"You'll see."

-00-

It had not taken her long to realize that they were not going to their cottage. John had not responded to any of her initial questioning and they had lapsed into silence. They bounced along through the narrow back lanes of Downton, heading south. The only sounds were the creak of the carriage, the horse's breathing and the hooves on the ground. Anna watched John's sure handed management of the reins. She had never considered that he could drive a carriage. He was a very good driver; his motions were lively and quick. The horse responded instantly to the slightest movement of the reins.

Though Anna thought she could watch him contentedly for hours, her curiosity got the better of her and she tried again to ascertain the plan.

"Johnathan Bates, I insist upon knowing where you are taking me." Her voice sounded authoritative and much more confident than she felt.

"That would be telling, my dear."

"Why all this mystery? And, while I'm asking, why not just enjoy our time off at home?"

"Because our home has also been in mourning for Mr. Crawley. I think we need to be somewhere fresh for Christmas; somewhere untouched by that tragedy."

She could not argue with that.

"I will assure you that we will not be leaving Downton estate and we will be there shortly. Just trust me."

Anna supposed she would have to be content with this non answer and sat back, once more enjoying the view of her confident and smug man. The path led them through a small copse of bare oak trees before opening into a wider space lined with pines. Here, John drew the horse to a stop and turned to his wife, beaming. "We have arrived."

She looked around, seeing nothing. John tied off the reins and jumped tenderly down from the trap. He reached back to help her down. "Arrived? Arrive where, exactly, John?"

"At our picnic. I've not seen you truly smile since Scotland. You prepared us such a lovely picnic at Duneagle and I wanted to return the favor to remind us of happier times."

She cast aside the fur and was beginning to step down, but stopped to look John in the face. "A picnic? You daft man, that was in the summer. One does not picnic in the winter."

"No? Well, I wish someone had told me that before." He smirked and finally helped her down to the ground. He wrapped his warm arms around her and looked lovingly down into her face. "Or perhaps a winter picnic just takes a little more work." He directed her gaze to the space behind the carriage.

He led her towards the little campsite he had constructed over the past week. A canopy tent stood in the little space, protected on two sides by lush, green pine trees. One side of the tent was completely open, the flaps tied back in perfect triangles of canvas. Inside the tent was a low bed made of blankets and furs. If his years as an army valet had taught him anything, it was how to make a canvas tent into a space worthy of a king.

"How?" She was flabbergasted at the sight before her.

"Not all the preparations this week were for His Lordship's surprise."

A rug as fine as any in the great house lay incongruously on the grass inside the tent. It led out a little ways under a tiny canopy. In the 'courtyard' a stone ring sat piled high with wood ready for the match.

"Come, let's make you comfortable while I get the fire going."

"My fire's already going." She teased and pushed her hands beneath his coat as he settled her down on a low settee that faced the fire pit.

"So I see. But I need you to bank that back for just a bit, love. Please trust me."

"Always." She pouted as he walked away, back to the carriage.

He returned immediately with the fur blanket and a thermos. "You'll be more comfortable without your coat." He took her coat into the tent and hung it by the door beside the silk robe and nightgown he'd bought for her. He was not gone five seconds. "I haven't any beer, but Mrs. Patmore sent us some of her hot mulled wine." He poured her a cup and tucked her lovingly into the pile of fur. "Warm enough?"

"Plenty warm, but lonely." Anna purred.

"Soon."

John turned his attentions to the fire. He had brought the wood out just this morning and built the fire himself. One match was enough for the aged wood to catch and begin to crackle. Anna watched his deliberate movements through the steam of the wine. The soft warmth of the alcohol soothed through her and she began to smile. All her anxieties from earlier were forgotten. A winter picnic did not seem as mad now as it had five minutes ago.

With the fire roaring, John unharnessed the horse and covered the animal with a blanket. He quickly unpacked the food from the carriage. He set the food on a low, folding table within easy reach and, removing his own coat, he prepared to snuggle under the fur blanket with his wife.

"Finally. This is a lovely surprise, John." She smiled warmly, a disembodied head floating above a sea of fur. "Thank you."

"Your smile is all the thanks I need. It's so wonderful to see you smile again, my love."

She had a surprise of her own for him. When he joined her beneath the blanket, he leaned in to kiss her and hold her. His hands found themselves touching her bare skin. While he was busying himself with the food and the horse, she'd divested herself of her dress and corset. "Merry Christmas, John."

All his careful plans for dinner, cocoa, roasted marshmallows and her new silk nightgown were obliterated in an instant. Well, not obliterated, just postponed. There would be plenty of time for that later. "Merry Christmas, Anna," he laughed as he kicked off his shoes and threw is vest in the general direction of the tent. She tore open his shirt and ran her hands across his chest. For a fleeting moment she thought, _Well, there's two more buttons I'll need to sew. _But that was soon forgotten as she melted into the warm glow of their passion, laughing.

* * *

**A/N - There's a long story behind this chapter, which was the most difficult for me to write. Thank you to Mona Love and Chelsie Fan for letting me rant at them. Sufficed to say, there will be another Bates/Anna story coming from me next year that is decidedly less fluffy. **

**On the positive side... only 4 more days to Christmas (Special)!**

**ETA...Tomorrow's Reindeer...Donder (AKA Donner)**


	7. Donder- Carson

**A/N These next three Chapters are all one big story. For those who do not know, Donder (aka Donner or Dunder) means 'Thunder' and Blitzen means 'Lightning'. You can't really have Donder without Blitzen. I think it's pretty obvious who Blitzen will be.**

**Spoiler alert re: Santa Claus, you have been warned.**

* * *

Donder- [Carson]

December 23rd, 1917-

There had been rumblings for weeks; storm clouds gathering on the Yorkshire horizons. The staff of Downton Abbey had grown accustomed to skittering past his open door and studiously avoiding eye contact. But two days before Christmas, the sky cracked open and thunder bellowed through the downstairs halls.

"I don't want to hear any more of your excuses! You've had two months…We had an agreement, sir! …Well a lot of good that's going to do me!" Mr. Carson's voice boomed through the downstairs. He slammed the phone down and fumed. One of the new kitchen maids had made the mistake of looking up as she scurried by. She was standing, staring in the open door of his pantry like a deer caught in headlamps. "Why are you standing about? Get back to work!" He slammed the door in her face so hard the bells in the servant's hall shook.

He regretted his words and actions immediately, but knew he'd only make matters worse if he went out into the servant's hall now. _This is a disaster._ What was he going to do?

Predictably, a few hushed minutes later a knock sounded on his door. He answered in a low and penitent voice. "Come in, Mrs. Hughes."

She did not enter, but cracked the door and waved a hand with a white napkin into the room. "Is it safe? I come in peace."

He laughed when he saw it, in spite of himself. "Then I suppose it is safe."

She closed the door carefully behind her. She looked warily at the man before her. Mr. Carson was acting as manic and flustered as he had been immediately before his collapse earlier in the year. She was deeply worried. "You're working yourself into a fit again, Mr. Carson. We cannot have that."

"I am not working myself into anything. I only lost my temper. I shall apologize to the girl later. Which one was it?"

"I'll not tell you. Any attempt to apologize will only traumatize her further, I fear."

"I am heartily ashamed. Was it really so bad as that?"

"It was. You've been growling around here for weeks. Now, what is this all about?"

"It's about a shipment of…supplies I was expecting for Christmas. The order kept getting postponed and now I've been told that it's not coming at all."

"And it's ruined Christmas?"

"It might. It's certainly one more concession we've had to make for this blasted war."

"Need I remind you that we cannot have everything exactly as it was?"

"That does not mean we should not try, Mrs. Hughes."

"No. But, nor should we blame ourselves if we fail."

"But we should not just accept our failures. I will not let this war and the Germans…" He held up his hand to stop her predictable response. "And, before you ask, no one has invited the Germans for Christmas. But then, they are not known for going only where they are invited."

Elsie Hughes knew when to retreat. His sour look told her that this was not the time to pursue this matter any further. He was only likely to work himself into a lather again. "Well, you stay in here for a bit and wait for the Germans. I shall see if I can coax the maids out from their hiding places." She paused briefly at the door. "But please do try to be a little easier on them, Mr. Carson. This is the first Christmases away from home for many of them."

"I am aware of that, Mrs. Hughes." He rumbled lowly as she left. "Painfully aware."

-00-

December 24th, 1917

Mr. Carson had been true to his word and was interacting more gently with the staff, but the change did not cheer Mrs. Hughes one bit. He seemed broken somehow. Though many thought him a humbug, she knew for a fact that Mr. Carson loved Christmas. He loved the decorations and the food and, above all, the traditions. Mrs. Hughes had often seen him beaming like a child when they first lit the Christmas tree. In past years, she would stand outside his pantry just to listen to him humming Christmas carols as he polished the silver. There were no carols this year, though there was still plenty of polishing to be done.

Of course, the occupants of Downton had made many concessions with the advent of war, but so far, Christmas had escaped relatively unscathed. Some familiar faces were missing, but all the most important traditions remained intact on Christmas Day. Mr. Carson took great pride in this fact. He was trying not to dwell too much on his impending failure, but a new wrinkle had been made known to him and his temper was building again.

"And now, Lady Sybil is expected to work the evening shift on Christmas Eve AND Christmas Day." He rumbled to Mrs. Hughes as he tried to relax, at her insistence, with a cup of late morning tea.

"We are all expected to work on Christmas, Mr. Carson." She reminded him gently, not liking the direction this was going.

"But _Acting_ Sergeant Barrow needn't have put her on the evening shift."

"It was her time in the rotation, Mr. Carson." The smug Thomas drawled as he sauntered into the room. "You wouldn't have me embarrass her by giving her special treatment, would you? She's been very clear about that."

"And if you changed the rotations one day early or late, would anyone really have noticed, _Acting _Sergeant?" Carson pointed out, his hackles almost visibly rising.

"Well, that would be cheating, Mr. Carson." Thomas flopped into a chair near Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. He looked towards the far end of the table. "Daisy, be a love and fetch us a cuppa', would you?"

The girl jumped up immediately to fetch Thomas a fresh cup.

"Sit down, Daisy!" Mr. Carson bellowed. "The Acting Sergeant knows perfectly well where the cups are kept and he can pour his own tea."

"Really, Mr. Carson, I don't mind. I…"

"I said, 'sit down', girl." An abashed Daisy sank back into her chair.

"Mr. Carson, should you not like to finish your tea in your pantry?"

"I see no reason for that, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Carson said, his eyes locked on Thomas.

"Well, I do." He heard the cold threat of danger crackle in her voice. When he looked at her, her eyes flashed an almost imperceptible warning. She was still smiling, but he knew that could change in an instant.

Carson's surrender showed in the slump of his shoulders. Reluctantly, he took his tea and retreated to his pantry. Thomas smiled triumphantly.

"Excellent idea, Mrs. Hughes." Thomas teased, as he remained sitting and made no move to fetch his own tea.

"Thank you, Sergeant. I'd be more than happy to bring you some tea…" She smiled saccharinely.

"That would be lovely, Mrs. Hughes."

"…when Hell freezes over. So if you wait for me to fetch it, you'll be waiting a very long time. And, in future, I'll thank you not to order about my girls for something when you can get off your _duff _and fetch it yourself. They are not in the Army Corps and they are not under your command. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes." Thomas replied, red to the tips of his ears with indignation. To add insult to injury, Daisy and her companions were now giggling at him from their end of the table.

Mrs. Hughes found Mr. Carson sitting in front of his fire, staring into it, the tea quite forgotten. On the table beside him lay a bag of peppermint sticks.

"Oh, I'd meant to ask if you were able to find the peppermints for this year, I know how difficult it proved last year." She tried to cheer him up with a compliment. "That could not have been an easy task."

"It has proven an _impossible_ task, Mrs. Hughes. This bag is all I was able to procure."

Suddenly, it all made sense. "That was the shipment you were looking for?"

"It was. I bought up sugar rations for two months to meet Mr. Cox's price. The plan was to have them delivered two months ago. I didn't want to cut it too close, for obvious reasons."

"Frankly, it's a small wonder you were able to find any at all. One bag will be enough for most of the Downton staff."

"But not enough for the extra staff or the nurses or the soldiers."

"Goodness, you were thinking of providing for them all?"

"As you said, they are all away from home. Downton is their home this Christmas and those who call Downton home hang stockings. Come Christmas morning, those stockings contain mixed nuts, dried fruits, oranges and peppermint sticks."

"Well, three out of four is not bad, all things considered."

"What's the bloody point of the bleeding orange without the peppermint?"

She could hardly believe the conversation they were having. Mr. Carson was acting as though there wouldn't be bread or tea. "Now, I know this is important to you, Mr. Carson, but there is no need to swear."

"I beg your pardon, but, yes, it is important to me. You've no idea how important. There has been an orange and at least one peppermint stick in every stocking hung at Downton for the past fifty years, or more. You mentioned the new staff, most of them still no more than children, who are away from home for the first time." He stared harder into the fire as she took the seat opposite him, still trying to understand why he was taking this so hard. "Did Santa Claus visit your home as a child, Mrs. Hughes?"

She had not expected this and struggled to answer. "What? Santa Claus? Yes, I suppose…that is, we hung stockings."

"We did not. Oh, my family exchanged gifts, but my father couldn't abide the idea of Santa Claus. To him, Christmas was about a baby in a manger, not a fat elf in a red suit."

"Can't it be about both?"

"Not according to my father. My first Christmas at Downton…" he stopped here, unsure of how to proceed.

Mr. Carson remembered back almost fifty years. His first Christmas at Downton had seen Charles Carson an angry and disillusioned boy. He had not been allowed to work in the stables, but had been forced to work in the house. His mother had died less than three months beforehand and he felt his father had abandoned him. When old Mr. Tate had insisted that Charles hang a stocking, he had pulled off the dirty, hole-riddled sock he was wearing and tacked it above the fire place defiantly. He had expected a lashing for him impertinence, but it had not come.

The next morning, Charles had not even bothered to look at the mantle place, but went straight to his work, hauling bundles of wood up to the common rooms. At breakfast all the staff were trading and haggling good naturedly for their favorite nuts or dried fruits from the stockings. Charles sat at the far end of the table from Mr. Tate and Mrs. Delaney and ate his porridge silently. 'Charles', Mr. Tate had called down the table. 'You've not collected your stocking.'

The boy looked up at the mantle and saw a lone sock hanging there. He could tell from where he sat that the sock was not the one he had hung the night before. 'That's not mine.'

'Are you sure?' Mrs. Delaney asked. 'I thought it had your initials on it.'

An astonished Charles Carson walked up to the stocking and saw that it did, indeed have 'CC' sewn crudely onto the toe, as his mother had done for all of his socks before he left for Downton. Trying not to betray any emotions, Charles took the stocking back to his place at the table. He emptied the contents in front of him; a handful of nuts and dried fruits, an orange, two peppermint sticks and another clean, new sock with his initials sewn onto the toe. He considered the new pair of socks for a while before turning his attention to the stocking contents.

Charles knew he liked peppermint, so he picked up the sticks first and untied them. He looked around to see if others were enjoying their candy so early in the day. He didn't know if that was acceptable behavior, even on Christmas. To his astonishment, most people were shoving their peppermint sticks into their oranges. Seeing his confusion, Kevin, the second footman had patted him on the shoulder and said, 'Here, lad, I'll show ye' how it's done.'

Charles had watching in awe as Kevin slammed the orange onto the table top and began to roll it around. 'First, you have to release the juice inside. Now you.' Charles had mimicked him, feeling the firmness of the orange change under his hand.

'Then, you use your thumb to pull just a bit of the peel off at the top of the orange.' He demonstrated the technique and Charles copied him. 'Now, bite the ends off one of the peppermint sticks. You see those holes? They act like a dozen tiny straws.' Charles nodded eagerly. Now he understood.

'Now, just cram that stick into the orange and, hey, presto! Orange juice, through a peppermint straw! It can be a little messy, but that's why we don't have this every day.'

All around the table, the staff were enjoying their Christmas treat. Young Charles Carson had done as he was shown and sipped tentatively at the peppermint straw. The cool, sweet mint and the sharp acid of the orange made an odd, but refreshing pairing. For the first time since arriving at Downton, the boy smiled.

"Mr. Carson?" She had waited patiently for his explanation, but Mrs. Hughes' patience was at its end. They both had work to do today.

"I'm sorry, it's just…" He could not tell her about his first Christmas, but there was something he could tell her that might explain how much this meant to him. "I heard Daisy speaking to one of the new hires a few weeks ago. They were talking about Christmas. Daisy was looking forward to it and the other girl was skeptical that we would be able to observe it at all. Daisy told her that Santa Claus would make sure that everyone got something special as he does every year at Downton. Daisy told the girl about the oranges and the peppermint."

"Daisy is nearly twenty, she cannot honestly still believe in…"

"That is what the new girl said and she laughed. But then she stopped laughing when Daisy said, 'You'll see.' The new girl said, 'I hope you're right. Wouldn't it be nice?'" Mr. Carson looked Mrs. Hughes directly in the eye. "That girl _wanted _to believe Daisy, she _wanted_ to believe in Santa Claus. For one day, they all want to be children again instead of young men and women forced to grow up before their time."

He sighed and tried to laugh off the sentimentality. "I know it sounds silly, Mrs. Hughes, but this isn't about a peppermint stick or an orange." _or a pair of socks._ "This is about being included in the traditions of a home; belonging to a family. This is about hope, which is in precious short supply these days. Christmas is about hope. I just wanted to give them that."

She looked at him sitting there, a man she had known for fifteen years, as though she were looking at a stranger. His unfathomed depths still caught her unawares. But his noble intentions were no excuse for his behavior. Softly, she said, "You've been thundering around here like an ogre, terrorizing everyone because you wanted to give them a happy Christmas?" He nodded with his head hung low. "You do see the flaw in that logic, do you not?"

"I'm flattered that you think logic even entered into it."

"On second thought… clearly, it did not." She heard a bell ring in the servant's hall and knew they would be interrupted soon. "I wish you had told me sooner. Mrs. Patmore and I might have been able to track down the candy, but we were busy finding enough oranges. I didn't think you'd get peppermints for everyone, but we didn't see a reason not to get oranges for everyone."

"I should have asked for help sooner, but I thought Mr. Cox had what we needed."

"Here's what I suggest. Let me see who I can reach at this short notice and what I can find. You are going to forget all about this. In the meantime, I think you should serve a penance."

"Penance?"

"You should revive an old Downton tradition that you've neglected."

"What have I been neglecting?"

"Something I think Daisy enjoys even more than the stockings; the poem. We may have a shortage of sugar, but we'll never be short of words."

"Do you really think…?"

"Mr. Carson, you're wanted upstairs," Anna called cautiously through the door.

"Thank you, Anna." He responded. "And, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I shall give your suggestion careful consideration. I appreciate your help with the other matter, but I do not expect a miracle."

"If no one expected miracles, Mr. Carson, they'd never happen." She quipped. "May I use your phone?"

He gave her a quizzical look, and headed out the door. "Of course."

After he had gone, she closed the door behind him. She picked up the phone and signaled the switchboard. "Ripon 0439, please…Martin? Elsie. We need to talk."

-00-

Christmas Eve dinner was a quiet affair, upstairs and down. The whole house seemed to be holding its collective breath, waiting for they knew not what. After the Servant's dinner was over, Mr. Carson stood and cleared his throat. "Mrs. Patmore has made some cocoa and cider for the soldiers and nurses to celebrate Christmas. You are all invited to join them. The drinks will be served in the Grand Hall starting in a quarter of an hour." Happy murmurs spread up and down the table, but Mr. Carson was not done speaking. "I shall be reading a Christmas poem for those of you who wish to participate. Those of you who do not are still welcome to help yourself to refreshments."

-00-

"I am glad you've decided to read the poem, Mr. Carson. I know it will be such a treat for the staff, and an excellent way to make up for your gruff behavior of recent weeks."

"It isn't much, but it will have to do." Mr. Carson stood beside his desk, looking down at the yellowing newspaper cutting. "I really should find a better copy of this."

"I'd have thought you'd have memorized it by now."

"Mostly, but there are a few tricky parts. I always put the reindeer in the wrong order."

"No one will know the difference." Then she sighed heavily. "I am sorry that I could not solve your peppermint problem, Mr. Carson."

"I appreciate the attempt, Mrs. Hughes. If it is a problem that even you could not solve, I do not feel so bad failing myself." They smiled at each other, feeling suddenly awkward, as though something more needed to be said. They both jumped as the phone on his desk rang loudly, breaking the moment.

"Downton Abbey, this is Carson the butler speaking…one moment please." He held the receiver out to her. "It's for you."

"Well, we may have given up on our miracle too soon. You go on up and start your poem. I'll follow shortly."

-00-

He had not expected so many of the house occupants would want to hear him read, but the Grand Hall was full. Mr. Carson had pulled up a chair with his back facing towards the main door. A line of wheel chairs faced him, arched slightly. Behind these were some random chairs pulled from other rooms in an impromptu and makeshift seating pattern. Mr. Carson longed to rearrange the chairs in a more orderly fashion, but eventually forced himself to accept the chaos. It would not do to get grumpy over chairs when he was trying to spread holiday cheer.

In front of the row of wheelchairs the younger staff and nurses sat directly on the floor. Mr. Carson saw Daisy and her new friend chatting happily to his left. The other patients and nurses and doctors were scattered about in the chairs or up the staircase. Lady Sybil stood with her fellow nurses. The rest of the family was on the two couches, one of which had been turned to face the proper direction.

They were all finally settled and Mr. Carson could delay no longer, but then he looked up as the doorway to the servant's stairs opened. Mrs. Hughes stepped through and gave him a huge smile and a nod. Mr. Carson knew she had delivered a miracle. He nodded back and then looked down at the poem before him.

"A Visit from Saint Nicholas, by Clement Clarke Moore." His voice easily filled the large room.

_"'Twas the night before Christmas,_

_when all through the house _

_Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; _

_The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, _

_In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; _

_The children were nestled all snug in their beds, _

_While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; _

_And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, _

_Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, _

_When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, _

_I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. _

_Away to the window I flew like a flash, _

_Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. _

_The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow _

_Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, _

_When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, _

_But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, _

_With a little old driver, so lively and quick, _

_I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. _

_More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, _

_And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; _

_"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! _

_On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! _

_To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! _

_Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" _

_As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, _

_When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; _

_So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, _

_With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too. _

_And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof _

_The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. _

_As I drew in my head, and was turning around, _

_Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. _

_He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, _

_And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; _

_A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back, _

_And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. _

_His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! _

_His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! _

_His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow _

_And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; _

_The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, _

_And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; _

_He had a broad face and a little round belly, _

_That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly. _

_He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, _

_And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; _

_A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, _

_Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; _

_He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, _

_And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, _

_And laying his finger aside of his nose, _

_And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; _

_He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, _

_And away they all flew like the down of a thistle, _

_But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, _

_"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."_

TBC…

* * *

**A/N- I debated posting the full poem, but realized that there were some people who might not know it. I assume if you didn't want to read it, it was easy to skip.**

**For those of us who grew up with the animated version with the singing mice, it's pretty familiar. If you don't have 'Even a Miracle Needs a Hand' in your head by now, you have no idea what I'm talking about, so never mind.**

**Tomorrow…Blitzen **


	8. Blitzen- Mrs Hughes

**A/N I know we love both Charles and Elsie, but if you have to know exactly who is running the Downton downstairs…When was the last time anyone was struck by thunder?**

* * *

**Blitzen [Mrs. Hughes]**

December 24th, 1917

"Ripon 0439, please…Martin? Elsie. We need to talk." Her voice was all business. "I understand you have a shipment that's gone astray…I find that odd, as you are usually a man who can find things. I do not think of you as one who would misplace an entire shipment of such treasured cargo for such a valued client."

She listened to his flustered excuses. "Well, that was because you were dealing with Mr. Carson, who does not appreciate how the game is played. Of course he didn't understand. But you are dealing with me now."

"Where are they?...Don't tell me that, Martin, I don't want to hear that. _Where are they_?... Well, find out and get back to me. This is rather a time sensitive issue. I don't know if you're aware, but it is Christmas Eve... Yes, I appreciate your wanting to spend time with your family, but you created this problem and I expect you to fix it. If you wish to continue doing any business with Downton, or any other house in this county, for that matter, you will get back to me today. Happy Christmas, Mr. Cox."

-00-

But throughout the rest of the day there had been no word from the merchant. Mrs. Hughes understood the scenario perfectly. Four months ago, Mr. Carson had ordered the candy and agreed on a price. Two months ago, Mr. Cox had received the candy and had been trying to shake down Mr. Carson for more money ever since. Mrs. Hughes almost felt sorry for Mr. Cox. Trying to subtly convince the incorruptible Mr. Carson to participate in price gouging and the black market was a pretty hopeless business. Mrs. Hughes smiled to imagine their conversations…

Mr. Cox: Well, I might be able to get the peppermints faster, but I'm competing against other suppliers.

Mr. Carson: Can you get them or not?

Mr. Cox: Of course, it's just that the price may have gone up.

Mr. Carson: How can that be? You said your sources were legitimate. You said you could find the candy for the agreed upon price. According to you, the shipment has already been ordered and sent. Was that a lie, Mr. Cox?

Mr. Cox: Erm…No.

Mr. Carson: Then, pray explain to me how the price could alter after shipment from a legitimate company?

Mr. Cox: I cannot say, Mr. Carson.

Mr. Carson: I expect the merchandise we discussed at the price we agreed upon, Mr. Cox. Call me when you have something productive to discuss.

He was maddening sometimes in his stubborn adherence to every rule and his refusal to accept some of the grittier changes the war had wrought. But in this instance, Mrs. Hughes did agree with Mr. Carson's efforts to deliver a special Christmas for all those he considered his responsibility. As the day progressed and no word came, Mrs. Hughes found herself almost as agitated as Mr. Carson had been. While he was upstairs serving, she had made another series of desperate phone calls, but to no avail.

The only bright spot of her day had been Mr. Carson's announcement that he would be reading the poem as she had suggested. And then, the call had come…"It's for you."

"Well, we may have given up on our miracle too soon. You go on up and start your poem. I'll follow shortly."

"Hello? Ah, Mr. Cox. I was beginning to think Downton would be looking for a new supplier."

"There's no need for that, Mrs. Hughes. I've found them. The chap I sold them to still has most of them. They are in a warehouse in Helmsley."

"And when can you get them here?"

"You'll have to send someone, both my trucks are busy today."

"Is a truck really necessary? How many peppermint sticks are there?"

"Well, I don't have a car, only trucks. If you can provide a car, you can have the candy tonight." He paused awkwardly. "It goes without saying that the price has changed."

"I expected no less." She answered bitterly. "We only have the sugar coupons that Mr. Carson set aside, but the cash is negotiable. The Downton representative I send will handle the negotiations."

"As long as it isn't Mrs. Patmore."

"We'll send who we can spare, Mr. Cox. You may expect the car within the hour."

"I don't need to go with them, I can give you all the information you need over the phone."

But that was not acceptable. Coolly, she told the merchant, "The less said over the phone, the better, Mr. Cox. And we've not dealt with this person in the past. I'm not sending anyone from Downton into an unknown situation without at least one known ally. You _will _be there. The car will be there within the hour. Thank you, Mr. Cox." Mrs. Hughes tone of voice negated any argument Mr. Cox might offer. She hung up on him, putting an end to any further discussion.

Mrs. Hughes smiled broadly. They'd found the candy, now it was just a matter of collecting it. All the staff were upstairs waiting for Mr. Carson's reading. She would have to wait until he was done to send her agents. Not wanting to miss the event herself, Mrs. Hughes rushed up the stairs to the main hall. When she arrived, Mr. Carson was looking rather overwhelmed at the large crowd he had gathered. She caught his eye and gave him a smile and nod to assure him that all was well.

This bolstered his confidence and he immediately began the performance. As he read, she watched the faces of his audience, his family. He thought she had accomplished a miracle by locating the peppermint shipment. But everyone in that room felt they were witnessing another Christmas miracle, a softened and smiling Mr. Carson. She felt justly proud of both miracles.

When he was done reading, he reminded everyone to hang their stockings and turn in for bed early. "Santa Claus is rather shy, we wouldn't want to scare him off." He looked meaningfully at Daisy and her young friend. They both looked frightened and thrilled. "But you've time for another cocoa." He winked.

Most of the festive crowd took his advice. Mrs. Hughes had to push gently through the throng to reach the spot where Mr. Carson stood speaking to Mrs. Patmore. He had just poured a cocoa and handed it to Mrs. Hughes as she reached them. "So you've achieved a victory?"

"I have reason to believe that I have. Mrs. Patmore, would you be available for a little errand this evening?"

"I really am very busy, Mrs. Hughes." Though the way she sipped lazily at her cocoa belied that statement.

"I realize that. I would not ask if I could trust anyone else with this task. How would you feel about a midnight ride?"

The cook looked at her in astonishment. "Tonight?"

"Unless you can postpone Christmas, it must be tonight. I'll find Mr. Branson and we'll all meet in my pantry in...Shall we say ten minutes? Everything will be explained then."

-00-

It was almost midnight. Mr. Branson and Mrs. Patmore were off on their mission to collect the peppermints, the staff were nestled all snug in their beds and only Mr. Bates, Anna, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes remained awake in all the house. Mrs. Hughes unlocked the larder and retrieved the hidden stash of mixed nuts, dried fruits and fresh oranges. There were so many stockings to fill this year, Mr. Carson had recruited Mr. Bates and Anna to help.

"We'll have to add the peppermints at the last minute, but we can make quick work of that. Anna, you and Mr. Bates can take care of the soldiers and nurses stockings upstairs. Make sure you check all the mantles. There should be eighty three, all told. Mrs. Hughes and I will take care of all the staff and then come up to help you finish."

Anna and Mr. Bates went up the stairs, leaving Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes in the servant's hall.

"Hopefully, Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Branson will be back shortly. You said they have to go to Helmsley?"

"After a brief stop in Thirsk. I am sure they will be back soon enough."

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes filled the long line of staff stockings with silent efficiency. He went first with the oranges and she followed with the nuts and mixed dried fruits. They had perfected the system years ago. This was their fifteenth year filling the stockings at Downton together. As he waited for her to finish, he juggled three oranges playfully. She was glad to see him in such a jolly mood.

"You are a marvel, Mrs. Hughes. I still don't know how you accomplished it." He juggled two oranges with one hand, concentrating hard on not dropping the fruit.

"You probably don't want to know, Mr. Carson."

He stopped juggling and grew instantly serious. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I usually mean exactly what I say, Mr. Carson."

But his jovial mood was gone and he was not going to be deflected by her attempt at humor. "Mrs. Hughes." His voice was low, still almost a whisper. "How did you locate the peppermint sticks?"

Again she was struck by how ridiculous they must sound, speaking so seriously about candy. She was also not in the mood to hear a lecture on the evils of the black market. "Elves." She said, lightly, hoping he would let the matter drop. Of course, she knew better than to hope too much.

Mr. Carson was not distracted by her silly answer. "You said they would have to stop at Thirsk on their way to Helmsley. Would that be to pick up Mr. Cox?"

"It might be." Came her short and crisp answer. She was beginning to lose her patience with this man.

"And then on to meet a black market contact?"

"Where did you honestly think I would find candy on Christmas Eve? In one of the chimneys?" Her voice was crackling as her anger built like a charge of static electricity.

"You realize we are probably purchasing the very candy that Mr. Cox promised me four months ago?"

"Very likely." She did not seem bothered by the fact, which angered him.

"So we are rewarding his dishonest practices by dealing with him?" Mr. Carson demanded.

She snapped at this. "And who else were we to deal with, Mr. Carson? Tell me that. You give me less than twenty four hours' notice and expect me to fix your mistake? The only merchant I knew for certain would have what we needed was Mr. Cox. And yes, we'll be overpaying for candy that will have changed hands three or four more times than was strictly necessary. But, this all could have been avoided if you had just offered him a little extra money two months ago."

"This household does not deal with black market extortionists." Mr. Carson insisted.

"That is where you are wrong, Mr. Carson. _You_ will not stoop to deal with the black market." The air around her sizzled with her angry energy, sparks were alight in her eyes. He voice never rose above a normal speaking level. "You can walk around here as pure as the driven snow, but Beryl and I have to get our hands dirty to provide for this house. We don't tell you how we do it because we know you wouldn't approve, but sometimes there simply is no other way. All I can say is thank Heaven the whole world is not as stubborn as you." She was breathing heavily as she turned back to her work with the stockings.

He stood in shock, stupidly holding the oranges in his hand. He had been struck dumb by her tirade and blinded by the beauty of her untethered fury.

She finished and turned again to face him. Immediately, she felt sorry for her outburst. He had that crestfallen look on his face that always disarmed her. It was the look he got when he doubted himself or when something disturbed the delicate balance of his ego. His eyes were cast humbly down and a frown softened his usually stoic features.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Hughes. I had no idea. I know you and Mrs. Patmore scrimp and scrounge to provide for this house, but I did not consider…"

"I am sorry, Mr. Carson. I should not have snapped at you. I fear the stress of the day finally got the better of me."

"And I should not have added to that stress. Forgive me, please."

"It's forgotten. Now, let's get upstairs and help Anna and Mr. Bates. They've not played Santa before and they are not likely to be as quick and nimble at it as we are." She grinned winningly at him and he could not help but smile back.

"No one is ever likely to be as quick and nimble as you are, Mrs. Hughes. You go on up, I'll be right behind you. There is something I need from my office."

"Very well."

Mr. Carson moved quickly to his desk and opened the bottom drawer. He retrieved what he needed and followed her up the stairs.

Anna and Mr. Bates were almost finished so Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes waited for them in the grand hall. The tree, not so grand as in years past was still quite impressive. The lights had been turned off for the evening, but the ornaments on the boughs glittered in the moonlight that shone through the glass skylight of the room and sparkled in the red light cast from the dying fire.

"It's almost lovelier without the lights." She commented, looking up at the tree. She did not notice when he walked up beside her.

"Mrs. Hughes. I'd like to apologize again for my rudeness just now."

"You were just being yourself, Mr. Carson. No harm done."

"I am aware of all the work you and Mrs. Patmore do for this house. And I know the war has added to both of your workloads."

"We are not remarkable in that respect, Mr. Carson. None of us is untouched by this war."

"That is true. I know we said we would not exchange gifts this year, but I have something for you as a token of my appreciation for all you do. I've something for Mrs. Patmore as well." He added this last part hastily, lest she misconstrue the intention behind his gift.

"We were not to buy gifts this year."

"But I did not buy these. This war has caused so many shortages and disruptions, but it has also reminded us of what is truly important. Friendships and family are all that really matter in the end. Elsie, you and Beryl are my dearest friends. I wanted to get you something." He offered her a small velvet box with a white bow tied around it. "And the only gift I wish from you is that you will accept mine."

Unable to argue with him, she accepted and opened the box. She gasped, "I cannot…these are too much." Inside the box lay two stunning silver and diamond earrings. The diamonds were only chips, but they had been expertly set in dazzling silver to optimize their effect. "I simply cannot accept this gift, Mr. Carson."

"Please, Mrs. Hughes. Elsie. You must call me Charles. These were my mother's. This and the watch pin I am giving Beryl are the only things approaching family heirlooms that I possess. You and Beryl are my family and I would be very glad if you would accept these and wear them when you have occasion."

"I will not have much occasion to wear them…Charles." They did not often use their given names and it felt strange to her; strange and wonderful.

"You shall have more occasion than I shall. And my ears are not even pierced." He joked.

"I could pierce them for you." She teased back.

"You know how I hate the sight of blood, especially my own. I am afraid you are stuck with them." She gazed down at the gift and bit her lip as she admired the jewelry. Charles knew he had won. "I would venture to suggest that Christmas is a special enough occasion that you might wear them now."

Mrs. Hughes nodded and removed one of the earrings from its velvet. Mr. Carson took back the box as she used both hands to fasten the first earring into place. Her hands trembled imperceptibly. When she was satisfied that it was secure, she reached for the second earring and repeated the process. Her hands were steadier now.

"There. How do they look?" She smiled up at him. When Elsie moved her head, facets of the diamond chips caught firelight and moonlight, flashing little bolts of light across his face.

Bewildered, he stammered, "You look…that is, ahem… _they _look…"

Anna burst into the hall, oblivious of the moment she had just shattered. "Mr. Carson, we've done with the soldiers. All they need now are the peppermints."

Mr. Carson was too startled to reply. Mrs. Hughes answered for him. "Very good, Anna, Mr. Branson and Mrs. Patmore can help us when they arrive. You and Mr. Bates are released for the evening." She managed to sound calm and professional. "And see that Mr. Bates gets some more cocoa before turning in, if he wishes." Elsie knew he would very much wish it. She was happy to allow the valet and housemaid little moments together, she trusted them both.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Oh! Mrs. Hughes, wherever did you get those earrings? I've never seen you wearing earrings before."

"They are a family heirloom. I only wear them on special occasions."

"They are beautiful. Aren't they beautiful, Mr. Carson?"

"Beautiful. Just the word I was going to say." He said softly.

Anna disappeared into the servant's staircase and left the butler and housekeeper in the stillness of the Grand Hall.

Elsie began to feel self-conscious as Charles stared blatantly at her. She tried not to think too much that he had almost called her beautiful. Finally, he must have realized he was staring and decided to speak, though he did not stop staring at her.

"Would you like a mirror to see how they look?" He offered.

"I don't need a mirror. I know exactly how they look." And she did. She could see it all in his expression; the adoring glint in his eye and the dopey grin on his lips.

She smiled dazzlingly at him. Not for the first, nor the last time, her beauty struck the breath out of his body and he could not speak. They were submerged in silence again, but this was a warm and comfortable quiet. Wordlessly, they sat down on the settee nearest the fire and settled in to wait for Beryl and Mr. Branson. She sat very close to him, their legs almost touching. His eyes did not leave her face. She allowed him to admire her, but could not bring her eyes up to meet his. She hoped Beryl would come soon, but not too soon.

As the minutes of waiting ticked by, their eyes grew drowsy. Within twenty minutes of sitting down, they were both fast asleep, leaning together with easy familiarity.

-00-

There was no telling how much time had passed when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter that Carson sprang from the settee to see what was the matter…

**TBC…**

* * *

** Tomorrow… SANTA CLAUS!**

**A/N Please forgive any typos, we had too much fun this weekend and my proofreading may have suffered.**


	9. Saint Nick- Mrs Patmore: Part One

**A/N Yes, I've been using Santa Claus mostly. I'm switching here to Saint Nick because that is how he is identified in the poem. Very little editing or proofreading has gone into this chapter. If I made a mistake, I suggest you do what I do...drink eggnog until it doesn't bother you anymore;)**

* * *

**Saint Nick- [Mrs. Patmore] - PART ONE **

The car bounced along the road towards Thirsk. Tom Branson and Beryl Patmore, both sitting in the unprotected front seat, bounced along with it.

Every now and then Tom would shake his head and laugh to himself. Eventually, Mrs. Patmore had heard enough. "And what is it you find so very humorous, Mr. Branson? I am cold and miserable and I could dearly use a laugh."

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Patmore. It's only that this has been an astonishing night. First, Mr. Carson reads a Christmas poem to the entire household, which was strange enough. But then Mrs. Hughes, of all people, sends us to buy black market peppermint sticks, in the dead of night. And not just any night, but Christmas Eve."

"Well, I shouldn't think we'd be in such a hurry to fetch peppermint sticks if it were Michaelmas Eve."

The young man laughed heartily at this. "Right you are, Mrs. Patmore. Still, you must appreciate the absurdity of our situation."

The cook nodded and chuckled. "I suppose it is absurd. But Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson are just trying to make Christmas special for the staff and the rest of the house."

"I would not have guessed Mr. Carson was such a sentimentalist."

"He hides it pretty well most of the year, but he's like a kid at Christmas."

"A kid who yells at everyone?"

"Yes, well, I suppose sometimes he just gets so invested in the perfection of that one day that he forgets the spirit of the season."

"Thank goodness Mrs. Hughes is about to remind him."

"I think Mr. Carson would agree with that sentiment, Mr. Branson. I surely do." Tom drove the car through a small cloud of mist. Mrs. Patmore shivered involuntarily. Immediately, Tom pulled over the car. "What are you doing?"

"We left in an awful hurry and you are not dressed warmly enough for this weather, Mrs. Patmore. I must insist that you sit in the back. It's more protected." He jumped out of the car and hurried around to her door, opening it for her.

Mrs. Patmore hesitated, but Tom took her hand and pulled her gently out of the front seat. She was still very tentative. Beryl Patmore knew her place, and it was not in the back of the family's car. Guiding her to the back door of the car, Tom tried to convince her that it was acceptable. "We'll be in Thirsk shortly and Mr. Cox will have to ride upfront with me at that point, so you might as well be comfortable now as later."

"But it's hardly proper." She protested weakly.

Tom smiled and reassured her. "Who's going to see, Mrs. Patmore? Besides, it would be very disruptive to the house if our cook became ill from gallivanting about the countryside at one in the morning."

"I don't gallivant." She protested with a broad grin on her face that matched his own. "Well, just tonight." He handed her a blanket and made sure she was settled comfortably.

They were back on their way quickly enough. Tom kept looking back to be sure Mrs. Patmore was comfortable. What he saw made him smile as he remembered Mr. Carson's poem. Her eyes were twinkling. Her wind chapped cheeks were like roses, her nose like a cherry.

Shortly, they reached Mr. Cox's spice shop. The unhappy merchant was waiting inside the door for them and he came rushing out as soon as the car came into sight. When he saw who was in the back of the car, he looked very unhappy indeed. Negotiating with Beryl Patmore was like facing down a charging bull. He started to open the backdoor to join her, but Tom stopped him.

"You'll be keeping me company, Mr. Cox, and giving me directions when we reach Helmsley."

"Can I just speak to Beryl quickly? I still don't see any need for me to go along for this ride."

"You're free to speak to her, but I'm certain you'll still be joining us."

The back window slid down and Beryl leaned out regally. "Is there a problem, Branson?"

"Mr. Cox does not wish to escort us to Helmsley, mi'lady." Tom informed her with mock grandeur.

"Kindly inform Mr. Cox that it is not his choice. If I were being ungenerous, I might be moved to remind Mr. Cox that we are only here because of his greed. He could have sold us the peppermints two months ago when he had them, rather than selling to a black market speculator. Now, pray let's get this wagon moving, Mr. Branson." She slid the window back up and leaned primly back into the overlarge backseat.

Mr. Cox saw that there would be no further discussion of the matter and slipped grumpily into the front passenger seat.

"You're on her naughty list." Tom joked as the car chugged north out of the village.

"My wife's too. She wasn't too happy when I told her I had to go out and even less so when I told her why."

"She didn't approve of your stealing candy from children on Christmas for profit? That's odd."

Mr. Cox was not inclined to continue the conversation. As they neared Helmsley, he gave Tom directions to a barn just outside of town. Tom's light mood disappeared as he drove the car down the dark, misty path. Christmas or not, they were going into a potentially dangerous situation. He began to second guess bringing Mrs. Patmore this far. They could have left her safely in Thirsk.

There were no lights visible in the barn as Tom brought the car to a stop by the large double doors. "Wait here, Mrs. Patmore." He said to the woman who had already jumped out of the back of the car.

"I'm tired of waiting, Mr. Branson. Let's find these _friends_ of yours, Martin and be done with it."

Mr. Cox knocked loudly on the barn door. It was an irregular knock pattern, obviously intended to identify a friendly customer. The door creaked ominously as a dark figure, holding a dark lantern. "Turn off those bloody lamps!" A gruff voice called from behind the other figure. Tom switched off the car lights. The night was doubly dark as his eyes had become accustomed to the head lamps.

Tom felt himself tense. How many people were here? What were they walking into? There was no way of knowing.

Apparently, Mrs. Patmore did not share his fears. She marched straight into the barn, not sparing a look to the man beside the door. He was obviously not in charge and was not worth her notice.

Tom followed her into the barn, pushing a reluctant Mr. Cox in front of him.

A makeshift desk leaned precariously in one corner of the barn. Two figures stood near this corner. The rest of the barn was absolutely full, top to bottom with crates and bags. Tom could not see anyone else in the barn, but hiding amongst the stock would be an easy matter.

"Who is in charge here?" Beryl demanded.

The shorter of the two men stood forward from the corner. "That would be me, Miss. Ryan Yount."

"Well, Happy Christmas to you, Mr. Yount. I am Beryl Patmore, of Downton Abbey. I trust you know what I've come for."

"Two gross of peppermint sticks, I believe." Good, he was a no nonsense business man, getting right to the negotiations. Beryl liked him already.

"We had ordered four."

"Well, we have two." He pointed to two smallish boxes that sat beside his 'desk'.

"This is all you have left? I take it you've sold the others."

"Yes."

"For a profit, I assume."

"A very large profit. And if you wish to depart here with these, you're offer had better be a good one."

She smiled winningly. "Oh, it's a doozy, alright. Here's my offer. I am taking what you have left and I am paying you one half of the agreed upon price and I am keeping our sugar rations."

"That does not seem to be a very generous offer, Mrs. Patmore." Mr. Cox pointed out nervously from beside her.

"It is not, but this entire episode has not put me in a very giving mood. If you wanted a generous offer, you should have dealt fairly with us from the start, Mr. Cox." She turned away from the spice seller and addressed herself to the real businessman.

"This is a delicate system, Mr. Yount, made of buyers, sellers and police who look the other way so long as no one complains. I don't have to tell you that resistance from any of us would bring it all to a grinding halt.

"Luckily for me, as a cook at an influential house, I can always find someone willing to sell to me for the right price. You, on the other hand, cannot have too many customers with my level of buying power. I command the supply resources of a great house and an Army convalescent hospital. And I've influence at the village hospital, which is also run by the Army. If I put out the word that you tried to shake us down over two cases of peppermint sticks, you're name will be mud in this county. So, it would behoove you to be generous with us this Christmas if you ever wish to do business with any of us in future."

"If you object to the system, why are you here?"

"Did I say I objected? I certainly do not. At the best of times, it can benefit us all. But if I cannot trust you to deal fairly on Christmas, then you are of no use to me."

"Then there is no point in my dealing with you. We have reached an impasse, Mrs. Patmore." He tried to usher her back towards the door, but she did not budge. "I am sorry that you've wasted your time, Mrs. Patmore. I have no shortage of clientele in other counties. You might have thought I'd be willing to haggle, but I assure you, I'll not have any trouble unloading the rest of these candies, even after Christmas."

"You'll have difficulty selling anything from jail, Mr. Yount." She looked meaningfully around the large barn. "I very much wonder if you could get all this merchandise shifted before I could come back with the constable. And he'll be none too pleased to be disturbed on Christmas."

She was bluffing, she had to be. But Mr. Yount could not read her in the low light of the barn. Affecting an unperturbed air, he answered, "We'd make it worth his while to look the other way."

"And, being attached to Downton Abbey, I can make enough of a stink that the Army would get involved and our dear constable would be out of work and off to the front. Now whose side do you think he's likely to take?"

She smiled magnanimously, knowing the power had shifted to her. "Mr. Yount, I don't wish to shut you down and I hope we can do business in future, but this is another matter entirely. This is a question of principle. You've taken a shipment that was meant for Downton and you are essentially holding it for ransom. You've made a profit on the first half of the shipment and I'm letting you break even on the second half. From where I'm standing, that is generous indeed. There is no need to be greedy on Christmas."

Mr. Yount reviewed his options. Kicking a hornets' nest on Christmas Eve over a couple of boxes of candy did not seem worth it. Besides, he really could profit from a long term relationship with Downton Abbey and its Army Corps associations.

"When I bought the candy from Mr. Cox, I was not aware that it was intended for Downton, Mrs. Patmore." They both knew he was lying, but they both knew how to play the game.

"Then I am willing to forgive the slight, Mr. Yount. Now, will we be able to do business tonight and in future, or are things about to get complicated?"

"I would very much like to cultivate a professional relationship, Mrs. Patmore. As a gesture of good faith and in the spirit of the holidays, I will accept your offer."

"Thank you, Mr. Yount. I am sure we can find use for someone of your talents in the months to come."

In short order, the boxes were packed into the back of the car. Beryl paid Ryan and they shook hands respectfully.

Mr. Cox pouted the whole way back to Thirsk. Ryan Yount might have offered a discount to Beryl Patmore, but Martin Cox would be making up the difference and they all knew it. Back in Thirsk, Mr. Cox climbed gratefully out of the car, his teeth chattering in the cold night. He approached the window where Beryl sat and motioned for her to slide the window down. When she had done so, he leaned in and spoke conspiratorially. "You know, most people have to pay for the privilege of an introduction to Mr. Yount."

Beryl did not have time for this. Rolling her eyes she reached into her coat pocket and removed the money purse Mrs. Hughes had given her. "Here's for your trouble." She shoved a single sugar ration into his outstretched hand. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we've stockings to stuff. One guess where you can stuff _that_, Martin."

Tom and Beryl were still laughing a few miles down the road when disaster struck. Climbing a hill, a terrible noise came from the undercarriage of the car and then an answering noise came from the engine. The engine died and the car rolled slowly to a stop.

"Blast. That's bound to be the gear box. If I had adequate light, I am sure I could make short work of this, but I can't possibly know what to fix if I cannot see exactly what is wrong. I am sorry, Mrs. Patmore. We are stuck."

"What time is it?"

"It is almost half past one."

"We need to get these crates to Downton now. Daisy's never gotten up after three in the morning on Christmas. Mr. Carson will be blowing a gasket."

"We're still more than five miles away. I suppose we could walk it, but that's another hour at least."

"Well, sitting here isn't getting us any closer. Let's get going." She climbed out of the car and looked back at the boxes. "We need a better way to carry these peppermint sticks. The crates they are in are heavier than the candy itself."

"I have an idea for that." Tom grabbed one of the blankets from the back of the car and spread it on the ground. He emptied one box onto the blanket and then tied up the corners, making a sack of sorts. He lifted it, testing the weight and strength of the bundle.

"Perfect!" Beryl cried, impressed. "Do we have another blanket?"

"Yes, and I found this cloak for you, it's going to be very cold before we reach Downton." She wrapped herself gratefully and was pleased to find there was a hood on the cloak.

Ten minutes later, the pair trudged along the road, thankful for the clear sky and the moon's light. Mrs. Patmore was doing an admirable job of keeping up, but Tom was beginning to doubt that she could make the full distance at this speed. They still had over four miles to go. She had refused to let him carry both bundles.

They were approaching a small cluster of outbuildings and low barns. Tom thought it might be worthwhile to stop here in the hopes of finding a cart or even a bicycle. They were well within the estate boundaries, so it would be an easy thing to make peace with whatever tenant owned the buildings. "Let's see if we can at least find a cart that we can pull." Tom suggested as they drew even with the buildings.

"But we can't take too long. Why don't I continue down the road. If you find something, you can collect me on your way to Downton. If you don't find anything, you'll be able to catch me up with no problem."

"Good thought, Mrs. Patmore. Hopefully, I'll be along shortly."

She trundled on, a dark, cloaked figure with a pack on her back. Tom set his own pack on a bale of hay and began to scan the buildings and the yards around them for something useful. He'd been searching for five minutes and was about to give up when he saw the edge of a wheel in a dark corner. The wheel was obviously part of a larger item. Was it a bicycle? Was it a cart? In the dark it was difficult to tell. Tom dragged the object out into the open yard to view it in the moonlight. Laughing with joy, he grabbed his bundle of peppermints and jumped aboard the contraption.

Beryl was beginning to worry that Tom had taken a wrong turn or, what was more likely, she had. But there had been no turn to take. _Just keep moving, Beryl._ She gathered her breath and shifted the sack on her back before starting up a small hill. Just then, she heard a squeaking and clattering coming from behind her. Looking back up the path she had just trod she saw Tom crest a hill and come coasting down the road towards her.

"Mrs. Patmore! Look what I've found!"

"But, what is it?" She had never seen such a contraption. The front half looked like a bicycle, with a wheel, handle bars and a seat. Behind that, the vehicle was a large flat wagon with two wheels. Technically speaking, it was a giant tricycle.

"Buggered if I know what it's called, but it will get us to Downton in no time. Hop on, Mrs. Patmore, and hold on tight." She did as she was told, sitting behind him with the two bundles clutched on her lap. She held the bundles with one hand and the edge of the flat bed with the other.

Tom pedaled with all his might to get up the hill and then flew down the opposite side of the hill, gathering momentum to carry them up the next hill. Beryl tried not to cry out in fear. She tried not to hear the way the wheels squeaked and groaned. She failed on both counts. Somehow, she managed to remain on the tricycle behind him.

She opened her eyes when she heard the familiar sound of gravel beneath their wheels. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the house growing larger.

"Finally! Oh, well done, Mr. Branson!" She shifted, trying to pat him on the back. This was too much for the rusty little tricycle and something broke under the flat bed. A screeching and clattering arose as Tom and Beryl crashed onto the grass immediately across from the front door.

"What in God's name?" Mr. Carson whispered sharply as he came running out the front door with Mrs. Hughes behind him. They took in the sight before them.

Mrs. Patmore was just rising from the lawn. She had the two sacks slung over her shoulder. She could see now, in the light from the house that her cloak was red. Beryl began to laugh, her little round belly shaking like a bowlful of jelly. She really did look like a right jolly old elf.

Mrs. Hughes began laughing as well. "Why Mr. Carson, I believe it is Saint Nick."

**TBC… More Saint Nick for Christmas Day.**

* * *

**Oh, and something else happens on Christmas Day. Hmm. What could that be? Oh, yeah! Christmas Special! ONE MORE DAY! Enjoy your Christmas Eve festivities!  
**


	10. Saint Nick- Mrs Patmore: Part Two

**St. Nick [Mrs. Patmore] PART TWO**

"Mrs. Patmore! Are you quite alright? And you, Mr. Branson?" Mrs. Hughes asked, moving quickly to help the cook with her burden. "That sounded like a nasty spill."

"I am just fine. I hope the same can be said for the peppermint sticks." Beryl laughed.

"I am okay, Mrs. Hughes. Thank you." Tom had recovered from the fall and was standing.

"Now that we've established that everyone is fine, we need to hurry." Mr. Carson whispered loudly. "Mr. Branson, please secure that…thing in the garage."

"Yes, Mr. Carson." Tom began to roll the vehicle noisily towards the back of the house. But then the butler's words caused him to pause.

"And, Mr. Branson, thank you for your help tonight. I look forward to learning how you leave Downton with a car and return with…a tricycle, is it? But we've no time for that now." He turned back to the two women who were already headed into the house with the two bundles of candy. They stopped just inside the door and let Mr. Carson lock the door behind them.

They opened the packs and discovered that most of the peppermint sticks had survived their rough arrival intact. The candies were arranged in bundles of twelve; tied together and then wrapped in a plastic bag. Mr. Carson began cutting open the bags laying on one of the blankets with his pen knife, removing the noisy plastic.

Mrs. Hughes took charge. "Mrs. Patmore can take care of the staff stockings downstairs. Mr. Carson, you should take the stockings in the men's dormitories and I shall see to the nurses and the officers' stockings in the common rooms."

"We've enough for two per sock." Mr. Carson calculated. He took a few bags from the other blanket, bundled it back up and handed it to Mrs. Patmore. "Mrs. Patmore, you may give the kitchen staff three."

"Right you are, Mr. Carson." She took off quickly across the Grand Hall to the servant's stairs.

Mrs. Hughes watched her go, smiling. "She does rather look like Saint Nicholas in that cape." Mr. Carson conceded, tilting his head to change his perspective. "You should take the blanket, Mrs. Hughes. I do not have so far to go and can make a few trips back here easily."

Having agreed upon the logistics, they parted ways, Mr. Carson with an armful of peppermint stick bundles and Mrs. Hughes with her blanket full. All of the nurses and officers had used the mantle places in the common rooms. She only had four stops to make. When she was done, Mrs. Hughes peaked into the west dormitory to see how Mr. Carson was faring.

Though Mr. Carson had fewer rooms to visit, he had more fireplaces and many more stockings. Some of the men had insisted on hanging their stocking immediately next to their beds. When Mrs. Hughes arrived, Mr. Carson was moving between the beds, filling the last of these. Mrs. Hughes watched from the doorway, marveling. Most people, faced with trying to move about a room filled with thirty beds and thirty sleeping men would be tempted to hunch down and creep about on tiptoe. Mr. Carson simply moved with his usual, upright posture, his steps as light and silent as a cat.

He joined her at the doorway and they slipped silently into the corridor. "Forty-eight." He confirmed.

"And thirty-five. That's eighty-three."

"Perfect. Now, I'll check in with Mrs. Patmore. And off to bed with you, Mrs. Hughes or you'll find your stocking empty in the morning." He teased.

"It would make no difference to me, Mr. Carson." She opened the servant's stair door and began to climb towards the attics, carrying with her the blanket and empty wrappers; the evidence of their late night activities. "This has already been one of my best Christmas' ever."

"And mine, Mrs. Hughes." She stopped to face him, for once, _he_ was looking up at _her_. It had been a long time since she had seen him smile so unguardedly. Well, except for just now, when he had given her his gift. She touched her new earrings unconsciously. "Thanks in no small part to you and Mrs. Patmore. I promise to find a way to show my gratitude."

"We shall hold you to that promise, Mr. Carson." She turned and hurried up the stairs before his eyes could hypnotize her. She only had a few hours of sleep before her, but what dreams she would have.

-00-

After leaving Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore had made her way swiftly to the servant's hall. Without even bothering to remove her cloak, Mrs. Patmore began to add the peppermints to the already stuffed stockings. She knew that she did not have much time before the first of the staff began to stir. The last of the stockings were those found in the kitchen itself. The kitchen staff had always hung their stockings over the stove. Beryl supposed it was someone's idea of a joke a long way back, but it had become tradition.

Unfortunately, this meant that the stockings were hung too high for Mrs. Patmore to reach without assistance. She knew she did not have time to wait for Mr. Carson, so she pulled the stepstool over and climbed up, bringing the sack with her. Just as she was finishing, she heard whispering in the hallway outside the kitchen.

"I feel so silly." Came a young girl's whisper. "But after all your talk, I just couldn't sleep."

"We were due to get up soon, anyway. I've never understood how anyone can sleep on Christmas Eve." Beryl recognized Daisy's voice.

"But are you sure they'll be something from Saint Nicholas?"

"Course I'm sure. You heard Mr. Carson."

There was nowhere for Mrs. Patmore to hide, she knew she was caught. But then, she had an idea. Mrs. Hughes had explained Mr. Carson's theory on the girls _wanting _to believe more than actually believing. If they would only meet her halfway…

Mrs. Patmore pulled up the cloak hood, pulled the bag up higher on her shoulder and hid her face behind her hands. She began to laugh in a low and masculine way as she continued to fill the stockings. She heard the girls gasp as they rounded the doorway.

From the doorway, the two girls gawped in wonder. By a happy chance, the cloak reached completely to the floor and concealed the stepstool upon which Mrs. Patmore stood. To Daisy and the younger kitchen maid, it looked like a six foot tall Saint Nick was filling their stockings.

Feeling bold, Mrs. Patmore turned her head slightly towards the girls. She kept the lower part of her face covered with her hands and the gathered corners of the blanket. The cloak hid her hair. All she exposed to them were her sparkling eyes. In the low light, she was unrecognizable. The astonished looks on their faces told her she had them fooled, for now. If she could frighten them off, she might be able to escape without shattering the illusion. She winked at them, a large and exaggerated wink. There was a glimmer of recognition in Daisy's eye. She knew those eyes. But who did she know who was also so tall? "Mr. Carson?" Daisy asked, tentatively.

"Yes, Daisy?" Came his booming voice from behind them.

Both girls screamed out and turned to face him. Mr. Carson was halfway down the stairs. "May I help you?"

"Oh, Mr. Carson, you scared us that much you did! But look!" Daisy pointed into the kitchen. She looked in and gasped, darting into the now empty room. He followed, unsure of what they had found. Looking around, he saw, to his relief that all the stockings were filled. But otherwise, the kitchen looked normal. Though he thought the step stool was out of place.

"What did you want to show me, Daisy?"

"Saint Nicholas! He were just here."

"Well, there's no one here now." He tried to keep his voice steady, but was struggling to contain himself.

"Oooh. He musta' gone up the flue." The other girl said, amazed, standing at the empty space before the stove and looking upwards.

"That is his preferred method of travel." Mr. Carson said as though it were the most normal thing in the world. They both looked at him in amazement. "Did you hear the reindeer too? That's why I was up. I thought I heard something on the roof. Maybe, if you hurry, you can see them. But he's probably already gone. He has a lot of stops to make tonight."

Not caring about Mr. Carson's warning that they'd missed the sleigh and reindeer, the girls raced to the backdoor, fumbled with the key and dashed out into the courtyard, their eyes cast towards the sky.

"All's clear, but not for long." Mr. Carson whispered into the storeroom. He had seen the tail of her cloak closed into the bottom of the door.

Mrs. Patmore came quickly out of the storeroom, carrying the cloak and blanket. She pushed these and the last of the peppermints into Mr. Carson's hands. And, laying a finger aside of her nose, she winked at Mr. Carson and up the stairway she rose. Mr. Carson had just stashed the evidence in his pantry when Daisy and her friend returned, breathless.

"We must have missed them." Daisy said, though she sounded far from disappointed.

"Well, you've seen more than I've ever managed. Why don't you girls take your stockings into the servant's hall. I'll make some coffee for me and I'll heat up some milk for cocoa for the two of you."

"I can do that, Mr. Carson." Daisy offered.

"No, Daisy, it's Christmas. I think I can make a cuppa once a year." He smiled down at the two bright and hopeful faces. "And then you can both tell me all about it."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson." Daisy pulled the stepstool over and pulled down two of the stockings, handing one down to the younger kitchen maid. "Come on, I'll show you the proper way to eat an orange on Christmas at Downton."

-00-

"And you saw Saint Nicholas too, Mr. Carson?"

"No, Sergeant Barrow, I did not. But I definitely heard _something _and, if Daisy and Clarice say they saw him, then I, for one, believe them."

"Are you sure it was not Mr. Carson, himself?" Thomas pressed Daisy.

"But it couldn't have been. He was behind us when Saint Nick winked at us. It weren't him, I know that."

"I think we should leave it to everyone to draw their own conclusions, don't you Sergeant?" Mr. Carson gave Thomas a withering look that warned of repercussions for pushing this skepticism any further.

"Very well, Mr. Carson. We'll see who believes."

Through the day, the story percolated through the house. Daisy and Clarice had become minor celebrities, called upon to recount their story again and again. The subdued jovial mood that had begun last night was now become positively jolly. The miracle performed by six servants had delivered the one thing Mr. Carson had wanted to bring to Downton for Christmas; Hope.

The nurses complained about the awful mess the soldiers made with their orange juice and melted peppermints, but they laughed as they complained and as they washed the soldiers sticky hands. Introducing the Downton tradition to everyone had prompted many to share their own childhood Christmas memories. A few even told of encounters with a jolly man in a red suit.

By the time the family sat for dinner, even the Dowager Countess had heard the story directly from Daisy's mouth. "What a disappointment it must have been, Carson."

"My Lady?"

"To have just missed out on seeing Saint Nicholas." She noted, dryly.

"I shall have to be more vigilant next year, My Lady." He replied with absolutely no hint of emotion. Anna smiled as she carried away the empty soup bowls.

-00-

Christmas Day was drawing to a close. Most of the staff had already turned in, exhausted. Mr. Carson had found time through the day to say special thanks to Mr. Bates and Anna for their help. He had managed to procure a pint of beer for Mr. Branson, who had successfully fixed and retrieved the abandoned car without anyone being the wiser.

Mr. Carson was as exhausted as anyone, but he still had one more thing to do.

"Mrs. Patmore? Please put down that rag and come join Mrs. Hughes and I in her sitting room for a glass of Christmas port."

"Well, if you insist."

Mr. Carson was filling the third glass as she joined them. He had brought a chair from his own office so they could all be seated comfortably before Mrs. Hughes' fire. When they each had a glass, Mr. Carson raised his in toast. "To a successful and merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." The two women echoed.

"Hmm. That's a good one." Mrs. Patmore commented. "I've not had anything that good since this whole mess started."

"I was keeping it for a special occasion. This seemed to qualify."

"I certainly agree, Mr. Carson."

Mrs. Hughes gave him a significant look, encouraging him. Steeling himself with a sip of the port, Mr. Carson began. "Mrs. Patmore, I think the three of us have known each other long enough that we could perhaps dispense with some of the formalities when we are all in private."

She looked at him, shocked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that you and Mrs. Hughes are my dearest friends. I consider you both family and I would be honored if you would call me 'Charles'."

"Is this your doing?" She looked at Mrs. Hughes.

"No. It was entirely his idea." Elsie assured her. "I believe you have something for her, Charles."

"Yes. As I said, I feel that we are very much family and I would like for you each to have something from my mother." He handed Mrs. Patmore a small box.

"So that's where those earrings came from. I was going to ask." She looked at Carson very seriously. "This had better be good or I shall wonder why I did not get the earrings."

Carson gulped and said nothing. But Beryl laughed and opened her gift. She stopped laughing. "Oh. Mr. Carson. This is…I cannot."

"That's what I said." Mrs. Hughes smiled kindly. "Let me save you some time. He'll not accept 'no' for an answer. Let's see it then."

Mrs. Patmore lifted a small, golden watch from the box. The face of the watch was made of ivory and the pin from which it dangled looked like a tiny bow made of golden ribbon. She held it to Mrs. Hughes for inspection. Silently, Mrs. Hughes took the watch and pinned it to Mrs. Patmore.

Mr. Carson's eyes were wet with tears he was trying desperately to reabsorb. He looked at his two dear friends; the angels who had delivered a Christmas miracle. But they had delivered so much more into his life. He only hoped that they understood how much they both meant to him, though perhaps in slightly different ways. He hoped they both understood why he could not tell them more often.

To break the tension, Beryl joked, "Well, I was hoping for a ring, but this will do."

"My mother did not leave a ring." Charles confided seriously. "She said fancy rings were impractical. She only ever wore a simple ivory ring, which was buried with her. When my parents were married, my father had the diamond chips from his mother's ring reset into those earrings for her." He reached out impulsively and took Elsie's hand.

"On their tenth anniversary, my father bought her the ivory faced watch to match her ivory ring." He took Beryl's hand with his other.

"They are all I remember of my mother. I am so proud to be able to pass them to the two most important women in my life; to my family. Please accept and enjoy them. And someday, you can pass them to someone special to you. Someone like Anna or Daisy or whomever you choose."

"There now. If you start to get sentimental, I shall be lost." Beryl managed to say. Elsie could not speak at all, but only held her lower lip in her teeth to stop it from trembling.

He smiled sheepishly, but continued to hold their hands. "I am sorry. It's only that I've kept these things hidden away for so long." Did he mean the gifts or his feelings? Perhaps he meant both. "And if you cannot be sentimental on Christmas, then when can you?"

After a few silent minutes the three recomposed themselves and Charles reluctantly let their hands drop from his.

"So, you want me to call you 'Charles'? And you 'Elsie'?" The butler and housekeeper nodded in unison.

"And we would call you 'Beryl'." Mrs. Hughes confirmed.

"I cannot allow that." Mrs. Patmore said seriously.

"Well, what would you prefer we call you?" Mr. Carson asked, very confused.

Mrs. Patmore laughed. "After last night, you should call me 'Saint Nick'."

The heads of household joined her laughter until Mr. Carson wanted to know. "We all had a hand in that, Beryl. Why do _you_ get to be Saint Nick?"

"Because, _Charles,_ I have the belly for it, I actually delivered the goods and _I_ have witnesses. You and Elsie can be elves or reindeer."

"Reindeer?" Charles scoffed.

"Magic Reindeer." Beryl reminded him.

"Well, that's something, Charles. I think that's the best we can hope for." Elsie soothed. "And you said yourself, Christmas is all about Hope."

"Well, now that's settled, I should head up to bed. Two hundred people don't feed themselves." Beryl finished her port and stood. She looked down proudly at the watch on her breast, then at the earrings sparkling on Elsie's ears and then at the tears sparkling in Charle's eyes. She patted the side of Elsie's cheek and kissed the housekeeper on top of the head. She repeated the action with a flabbergasted butler. "Good night, Elsie. Good night, Charles.

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

* * *

**A/N Christmas festivities and trouble accessing ffnet made this a little late, but I hope you enjoy it whenever you do read it. I hope you and yours had a Happy Christmas. **

**Rudolph will be coming, no promise when, but certainly before Baby New Year needs him.**

**I suggest those who do not want spoilers for the Christmas Special avoid reading any reviews.**


End file.
